Eve, the Apple of my Eye
by bethaboo
Summary: The year is 1921. Esme Platt Evenson throws herself off a cliff, and Carlisle Cullen finds and changes her. Can she ever learn to forgive him for damning her for all eternity? Canon with a dash of AU. A re-envisioning of Esme and Carlisle's story.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **This is going to be my new longish story. Just so everyone is aware, this is pretty different than both Turning Dust into Gold and Going for the Gold, and well, everything I have written so far. I wanted to try a challenge, so here it is. I am going to try my absolute hardest to stay in canon here as well as the time period (the year this begins is 1921). If I make a mistake. . .much apologies.

The title of this comes from a song of the same name, by Bell X1, that could be written for this story. Please check out the link on my profile.

Thanks to my beta, Angel (edwardzukorocks) and Debussy-this, Starshinedown and le jen for being so supportive during the creative process.

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**Esme**

The angry wind whipped around me, wrapping my thin cotton dress around my body. I shivered, and took the final steps towards the edge of the cliff, my heart thudding harder than I thought it would be—but I told myself it was just the importance of the moment. That despite all odds, it had _finally _arrived.

I wasn't scared. _I wanted this. _There was nothing left for me here.

The gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I took one step closer. The storm was definitely becoming stronger, and I lifted my head to the sky, relishing in the power that was greater than me, greater than anything. Soon, I would be a part of that power.

I welcomed the thought of relinquishing my weak human body and its all of its unbearable pain. I'd come here for no other reason. My imminent escape was like sugar on the back on my tongue. I'd thought I'd feel something bittersweet and painful when I got to this moment, but I'd been wrong. There was only the glory of a final victory.

Lightning shot across the sky, lighting up the yawning chasm below me, and I looked down, absorbing the details of where I'd finally be able to rest.

I wouldn't be buried in consecrated ground, and though I knew that this would upset my parents, I couldn't have cared less. In that way, and in many other ways, I supposed that made me "progressive" for my generation.

I'd wanted a career instead of just being a wife and mother.

I'd left my husband when I found I was pregnant.

I'd intended to raise my baby by myself.

And now, when deprived of that last tie to the world, I'd made a choice that would send shock waves through almost any community I'd ever been a part of. Suicide wasn't an option. It wasn't even spoken of, except in hushed, embarrassed whispers.

I had no patience with a world that didn't allow for emotion. I was sad. I didn't want to pretend otherwise. And I was so sad that I'd run out of reasons to continue on, leading a meaningless life during which I knew my grieving would never cease. I'd lost the one thing in my life that I'd ever wanted more than life itself.

This logic had brought me to the cliff tonight. And it was that logic that helped me take the step off it.

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**Carlisle**

When they brought her in, I would have known her anywhere.

Not by her face, of course. It nearly unrecognizable.

No, I'd have known her by her scent alone.

Esme Platt.

Even if my mind had been able to let go of the name and the face, I would have remembered her. The sweetness of her smile. The golden caramel of her hair. The pull of her blood, when I'd thought I'd long left those urges behind.

Just as I remembered her, I knew that her life was going to be measured not in years, or months or even days. It was going to be measured in moments.

I looked up at the attendant who'd wheeled her in. "What happened?" My voice, almost always calm and even, had a note of hysteria to it. I didn't even recognize the sound of it coming out of my lungs, and the attendant's jaw fell.

I'd cloaked myself in humanity for so long; been so good at hiding what I really was, that the loss of control was probably doubly alarming.

"She was found at the bottom of the cliff," the attendant stammered, and apparently I was supposed to know what he meant by that.

I gestured for him to continue, hoping that not speaking would prevent his obvious and sudden terror from spreading. In this instant, with every instinct on high alert, and my mind racing, it was almost as if this man, who I'd worked with every day for three years, suddenly realized that not only was I terrifying, there was something distinctly unsettling about me.

He had no idea.

I would rip him limb to limb if he wouldn't tell me what had happened to Esme Platt. I'd never killed a human in cold blood, but I would kill this human just to find out how this sweet girl's life had nearly been taken from her.

"The cliff, Dr. Cullen. The one where people. . .sometimes. . ." he hesitated and I felt the murderous rage surge under the surface of my calm exterior.

I interrupted. "Do you understand, John, that this woman has less than probably five minutes to live unless I can find a way to save her?"

I kept my voice completely even, but I knew he could sense the emotion lurking beneath.

"Dr. Cullen. The cliff. That's where people sometimes. . .throw themselves off." John dropped to almost a complete whisper, and if I didn't have extraordinary, inhuman hearing, I would have been hard pressed to catch all of his explanation.

Looking down at Esme, I felt a surge of sympathy. Her life hadn't been snatched away. She'd thrown it away, instead. I wondered what her reasons were.

I nodded towards John, letting him know that his job was over, and he exited the room, silently, probably fearing for his life.

I didn't care. My entire attention was focused on the girl on the gurney.

She was totally motionless, her face terribly bruised and fractured. Her legs were at odd angles and I thought that her spine was broken.

As a doctor, there was very little that I could for Esme Platt. I could maybe give her some morphine, though I had a feeling that there was likely bleeding in the brain and she wasn't feeling anything.

I reached for the morphine, but as I began to push the needle into her cold, nearly lifeless flesh, I started to imagine her flesh being harder. Colder. Like marble. Like my own.

Even though I'd created Edward only a short while ago, I had centuries of thinking of myself as a lifesaver only in my role as a doctor, not a vampire.

Thinking I had totally lost my mind, I tried to bring myself to stick the morphine needle in, but again I hesitated.

I couldn't even justify my hesitation to myself. I wasn't lonely—I had Edward now. No matter that he was like a son, and this woman would hardly be like a daughter to me. I'd wanted her to be much more, since the moment I had seen her, leg broken like it was broken now.

She'd captured my attention and my imagination in a way that no woman had ever done. Leaving her behind had been excruciating and nearly impossible for me. I'd only done it because Esme had been so young and alive, with all her life in front of her. I could not justify my actions to myself. The very idea had been abhorrent.

But now?

She was literally dying in front of me. I could have her, forever, if I wanted.

And so for the second time in my life, I was selfish.

I gently, carefully, easily lifted Esme into my arms, and we were out the door within seconds, with no one the wiser. There were some benefits to being able to run as fast as I could.

I was at the cottage I shared with Edward within seconds, even though it was on the outskirts of town.

I heard him playing the piano a mile away, but when we got closer, I heard him stand up so suddenly, the bench fell to the ground behind him, shattering into a million wood fragments.

He'd read my mind and knew what I was going to do.

He was talking to me the second I opened the door.

"Carlisle! You can't do this," he yelled.

"I did it to you," I reasoned, not even stopping to speak to him, but hurrying up the stairs. Each breath of Esme's was shallower. I was losing her, and I had to get the venom in her before the last breath passed her lips. Before I was too late to save her.

I laid her reverently on my bed, and glanced behind me at Edward, who was staring, jaw dropped, at the two of us.

"Get out," I ordered harshly. "You won't be able to handle the smell."

He shut the door hard, and I heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs, probably leaving large dents in the wood. Edward still did not know his own strength.

I leaned over Esme, smelling for the last time her beautiful spicy scent and preparing myself for the difficulty of tasting her blood, yet not taking all of it.

My lips drifted over the beautiful curve of her neck, and at its most vulnerable spot, where the blood pulsed so headily beneath the surface of her cold skin, I let my teeth sink in, mixing my lethal venom with her own lifeforce.

It wasn't until that moment that I remembered that she hadn't wanted to live.

She wouldn't want to be saved.

I pulled away hard, gripping the wooden dresser so hard that the edges shattered.

The only thought that echoed through my mind was that I was the most selfish bastard I had ever known and that instead of saving Esme, I had just condemned her.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I did promise quick updates and here's chapter 2. I'm so thrilled with everyone's feedback so far. . .keep it coming!**

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**Esme**

The pain ripped through me, and it had a cackling, howling, cruel life of its own.

I wanted to scream but I felt stuck in place, the breath clogged in my throat, in my lungs.

Everything around me was a black, impenetrable haze. This, I decided, must be hell.

So I let myself ride out the pain, and I didn't even try to struggle. It wasn't anything like I'd expected, but how could it have been? At least I had a physical pain to mirror the emotional pain inside.

The spasms went on for what must have been days. I began to prepare myself for an eternity of hell, but just when I'd begun to come to terms with the pain, it stopped. Rather abruptly.

I panicked. The pain had become a familiar enough companion and I was suddenly scared without its comforting presence.

Almost instinctively I took a deep breath, trying to calm the terror rising inside me, and I found that I _could _breathe. Except, it seemed rather pointless. I didn't need the air. I wouldn't die without it.

Of course, I almost laughed to myself, I'm dead. I don't need to breathe anymore.

The little bit of humor helped push me to further investigate what had happened, why the pain had disappeared.

I found I could move my arm a little, and when I thought about opening my eyes, they opened almost of their own accord.

I immediately snapped them shut again.

The scenery had been too overwhelming, too detailed, too _something_. Like I was looking at everything through a microscope.

That's when I heard his voice. "Esme," he pleaded, "open your eyes again."

I knew exactly who it was, yet Dr. Cullen's presence in my own personal hell made no sense. He'd always seemed more like a beautiful avenging angel than a devil.

Cautiously, I opened my eyes more out of curiosity than anything else.

He stood above me, a worry line creasing his forehead, and he looked exactly the same. Except that I noticed, like my eyes were drawn to them magnetically, several dark red splatters on the collar of his white shirt.

They were so clear, and precise, I almost felt like I could determine the molecules around the edge, and instinctively, and with a sudden fierce hunger, I knew they were blood spots.

My blood?

"Dr. Cullen?" I asked hesitantly, and I noticed that my voice was huskier, deeper. . .older.

"Are you hungry?" he asked abruptly, not even letting me ask my question.

I paused for a second, the thoughts running through my head so much faster than they normally did that it was hard to pick out the one that was the loudest. Once I did, it was obvious.

Yes. I was quite hungry. Except, I wasn't hungry for steak or mashed potatoes or green beans. I wanted . . .what was on his shirt. So badly that I would have gladly torn it off his back, and sucked it right out of the fabric.

I scrambled back on the bed, and nearly screamed when my back hit the backboard and it broke in half. I felt nothing and panic streaked through me.

"Esme, Esme," Dr. Cullen cajoled, looking at me carefully. "I need you to be quiet for a second and not move."

I shut my mouth and I realized that the dull roaring sound echoing in my ears had been my own screaming.

"Is this hell?" I asked quietly, with fear echoing through me. Suddenly I wasn't quite so ready to trade my life for this unknown and weird place populated so strangely with Dr. Cullen.

He shook his head. "No, Esme. It's not."

"Where am I?" I demanded fiercely, the terror welling up making me much more demanding and well. . ._rude _than I usually was.

It was only then that I noticed him shrink back from me. I wouldn't have, normally, except that this new way I was seeing was so precise that I couldn't help seeing and almost calculating to the tenth of the degree how much he leaned back, putting more distance between us.

Dr. Cullen was scared of me. In fact, I could almost _smell _his fear.

"Esme, I just need you to be calm. I'll tell you the moment you promise me you'll be calm."

"I'm calm," I told him, but I knew it was a lie.

Dr. Cullen paused, like he knew it was a lie too, and suddenly I heard footsteps out the door. There was someone else there. He hadn't been going to continue, but he was reassured by the presence on the other side of the door.

This hell was getting stranger and stranger. My mother would be horrified to know how different this was than the account the Bible gave.

There'd been fire and brimstone with the pain, but it had disappeared, leaving nothing in its place except fierce strength and enhanced senses. And if Dr. Cullen was the devil, then I would be truly shocked. There was _nothing _inherently evil about him, at least nothing I could sense.

"Esme, when you jumped off the cliff, you didn't die."

Dr. Cullen waited after telling me this. I supposed he wanted to see my reaction before he continued, but I shook my head.

"You're wrong. I'm dead now. I don't have to breathe. I haven't taken one breath since I opened my eyes."

He nodded. "I know you haven't. I said you didn't die when you fell off the cliff. But you're dead now."

Even though I'd expected that particular fact to be true, having Dr. Cullen tell me that my suspicions were indeed correct was unsettling.

"So I am in hell then?" There was no other explanation. Surely, this wasn't heaven? Dr. Cullen was so handsome he was almost beautiful, but I knew I wouldn't feel this magnetic attraction to God or an angel, and that still didn't explain my fierce hunger for . . .God save me. . ._blood._

"A sort of hell, Esme," Dr. Cullen said and his voice was quiet and heartbreakingly sad. Almost like he hated himself.

"What do you mean?" I looked up into his amber eyes and hated the self-recrimination I saw there.

"Esme, you're dead, but you're still on earth."

I shot off the bed, and was shocked to see my feet leave huge craters in the wood floor.

The door opened and I felt my instincts go into high alert, and I hit a crouch position instantly and was shocked to hear a sort of growling hiss come, totally unbidden, out of my mouth.

The boy at the door was tall and slender, but well built and conveyed the impression that he was strong and impenetrable, which I found strange. He was just as pale as Dr. Cullen and his eyes were a strange light red color, almost a pinkish-orange. His bronze hair was messy and his expression was unbearably concerned.

"Carlisle, is everything alright?" The boy ignored my presence, but instead directed his question at Dr. Cullen.

"I think we have everything under control. Have you heard anything. . .strange?"

He shook his head. "No. Everything just about how it should be. She does have an odd preoccupation with hell, though." He chuckled at that, and I wondered if this 'she' they were talking about was me. I'd been thinking about hell, but I hadn't said anything aloud.

"Excuse me," I said rather loudly and the eyes of both men swiveled in my direction instantly. "Could someone please inform me what is going on?"

"I'm Edward," the boy said, and walked toward me, so slowly and with such kindness in his strangely-colored eyes that I felt safe. Almost safer than I felt with Dr. Cullen.

"It's nice to meet you," I said, and I could almost feel my face breaking into a smile.

"Edward," Dr. Cullen said, "tell her. Slowly. I'm not making any progress, and she seems to trust you." His voice was so sad that I wanted to ask him what I had done to cause such heartrending grief. Because instinctively, I knew they were talking about me.

"Esme, you were really hurt when Dr. Cullen found you. You were dying." His words had a horrible finality to them but I didn't understand.

"Why didn't you just let me _die_?" I asked Dr. Cullen angrily.

He spread his hands out in front of him in a plea to understand and Edward continued speaking, ignoring my question entirely.

"Dr. Cullen saved you, Esme. But he had to kill you to save you."

I didn't like this at all. I'd _wanted _to die! Besides that simple fact, how could I be both alive and dead?

"Feel you heart, Esme," Edward said kindly. "There's no heartbeat."

My hand shot up to my chest, and strangely enough, there was no reassuring thump, thump, thump.

"And you don't need to breathe. You're dead. But you're alive."

"I don't understand," I said again, turning to Dr. Cullen.

He sighed. "Esme. What Edward is trying to say is that you are a member of the living dead. You don't have a heartbeat, you don't have to breathe but you can, if you want. You are impossibly strong and fast and smart. Your senses are incredibly enhanced."

A bad feeling unfurled inside me. "What exactly am I?"

He closed his eyes in pain, and I wanted to save him this, but at the same time, I wanted _him, _not Edward, to tell me. It was suddenly incredibly important that I know who or _what _I was.

"Esme," he whispered. "You're a vampire."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks to everyone who's read and/or reviewed so far. I'm really thrilled with everyone's response to the story.**

**Thanks to Trinity who reassured me that Esme was indeed vampire-like, and Angel, who forced me out of my comfort zone and "you know who" for coming up with "transform." Also to Twilightzoner who helps me put the final polish on my drafts.  
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**A gracious reader has been kind enough to start a thread on the Pre-Twilight thread on the Twilighted forums so come play with us!**

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**Esme**

I fell absolutely still. Inhumanely still. I didn't even have to breathe. I could sit like this forever and watch . . . my prey.

"A joke," I growled at the two men, and I was amazed at the animal roughness in my own voice. I'd been prepared to give up my life and suffer in hell for my decision, but I wasn't ready to be condemned as . . .what?

A monster?

A demon?

Even worse, I _felt _different. Altered. Like with very little provocation, my brain would be unable to control the newfound strength in my body.

I knew almost nothing about vampires, except they drank blood and slept through the night and . . . jittery panic lanced through me once again . . . _they lived forever._

Strangely, the idea of drinking blood didn't sicken me. In fact, I found I craved it. Desperately.

"Esme, you were near death when you were brought to me. I had to do something." Dr. Cullen seemed to be pleading for my forgiveness, but an irrational hunger was swelling within me, and forgiveness was the last thing on my mind.

"Tell me _everything_," I yelled, retreating farther into the corner in confusion and fear at my _own _body, and Dr. Cullen stepped back, rightly afraid of my sudden vehemence.

"Edward, go get the lynx," Dr. Cullen ordered. "She's hungry."

I was. I was starving. But not for . . . flesh.

"Lynx? Lynx?" I argued, denying to them and myself that a lynx sounded wonderful, and even better if blood was dripping from its broken neck . . .

In that moment, I recognized it was the _blood _of the lynx that sounded amazing, not the lynx itself. And suddenly, I was afraid of myself and what I would do if I didn't get fed soon.

My eyes were glued to the door, like it held the secret of life. Half a second later, it seemed, Edward was back and holding a dead animal.

Just the scent made my senses roar in delight. I hated myself as I leapt over the bed and grabbed it out of his hands, holding the carcass reverently in my own.

"Drink, Esme."

It went against every civilized instinct I'd ever had, but I wanted to tear it to pieces and savor the still warm blood running through its veins.

And so I did, and though I felt a tiny bit of disgust in the back of my mind, the rest of me knew that this was what I was created to do. I was _supposed _to behave in this primitive, evil way. When I was finished, I angrily flung the drained lynx carcass at Dr. Cullen's feet.

I'd never known hate before, but in that moment I hated Dr. Carlisle Cullen for taking my last act on earth and transforming it into this grotesque half-life. The lynx had served to take away that gnawing impossible hunger, and I felt a little more in control, but no less angry or confused.

Dr. Cullen looked distraught, but I felt no sympathy. He had brought me this low, and the part of me that still felt human would not forgive him for it.

"You were near death, Esme, like I said, so I brought you back to this house and . . ." Dr. Cullen's voice dropped several octaves before continued. "And then I bit you."

"Are you saying _you're _a vampire?" Dr. Cullen nodded.

"And now I'm a vampire too? Because you bit me"

I wasn't even skeptical anymore. I felt the truth of his words in my too-strong body and in my enhanced senses. I had just witnessed myself do the unthinkable and drain the blood from an animal without a second thought. Yes, he had turned me into something inhuman. It didn't matter what he called it—I was doomed even more than when I'd jumped off the cliff.

"My venom mixed with your blood, and yes, that changed you into a vampire." Dr. Cullen had grown more collected, now that we were discussing my apparent change more clinically. However, I didn't want to discuss it rationally, like we were talking about a normal surgery or procedure.

I looked down at my arms. I noticed that I'd grown a lot pastier, and my skin now resembled the very pale hue of Dr. Cullen and Edward.

"I look exactly the same," I said, surprised that my inner self could be so malformed and yet I could still be Esme on the outside. Dr. Cullen chuckled, and he shook his head.

I looked up at him and he turned to Edward. "A mirror, Edward."

"Won't looking in a mirror hurt me?"

"That's a legend. So is sleeping during the day and getting staked and . . ."

"I want you to release me," I interrupted bluntly, no longer caring about the niceties of manner. Etiquette seemed superfluous when one had just drunk the blood of an animal.

Dr. Cullen conveniently ignored me. "Esme, tell me what you remember."

"I jumped off a cliff. I wanted to die." I said this as straightforward as possible, and was surprised that although I _felt _as if I wanted to cry, no tears came.

"You did jump off a cliff. When you were wheeled into my examination room, you had broken legs, a broken arm, your spine was shattered and you had so much bleeding in the brain that you probably wouldn't have ever awoken. Do you think that with those extensive injuries somehow you could be here, talking and walking, if I hadn't done something radical?"

I glared as fiercely as I could at Dr. Cullen, loathing the "radical" thing he had done to "save" me. I'd _wanted _to die. It hadn't been his place to make the call that saved my life, if it could even be a called a life anymore.

Edward walked back in the room, holding a silver-backed, handheld mirror. He extended it towards me, and I took it from his hand, noticing the way my normal grip bent the handle. I refused to care. After all, I knew, as the hunger for more blood gnawed in my stomach, that I was hardly human anymore. Nobody would expect me to act the polite lady.

I looked down into the surface and nearly dropped the mirror.

I was me, but somehow, I was more _me _than I had ever been. The changes to my face were subtle - the defined curve of my cheekbones and the softened line of my jaw. I thought my nose was definitely smaller. The golden caramel color of my hair had become so vibrant it almost seemed to glow from within. I had been pretty before, but now I was beautiful.

The only ugly thing about me were my eyes. They were dark, blood red, and I shuddered as I looked at them.

"They'll fade," Edward volunteered. "Look at mine. I've only been a vampire for two years, and my eyes are almost the same shade as Carlisle's."

Edward seemed like a nice enough boy, but I didn't care. I didn't _want _my eyes to be the same color as Dr. Cullen's. I didn't want to be like him in even the smallest way.

"Why are they red?" I demanded.

"Esme," Dr. Cullen answered and I couldn't resist my instinct to glare at him. I hadn't wanted him to answer. I much preferred speaking to Edward. He, at least, felt non-threatening, and unlike Dr. Cullen, he hadn't _bitten _me. "Vampires as a general rule have two lifestyle choices. We can drink human blood . . ."

I instantly recoiled in utter distaste from this statement. "You want me to drink _human blood_? Kill humans?" My voice reached the rafters, and Edward looked at me reassuringly.

"Or," Dr. Cullen continued, unimpressed by my vocal histrionics, "you can choose to be like Edward and me, and only live off the blood of animals, like the lynx you just ate. That's why our eyes aren't red. They're gold instead."

"But mine are still red. Did you feed me a human?" I yelled, taking a threatening step towards him. Nothing that Dr. Cullen would do would surprise me anymore.

Edward moved between us and hissed. I got the point and took a step back. Still, I did not understand his affinity for the man who had damned us both.

Carlisle sighed. "There are still remnants of your human blood in your system. Edward is right. If you stay on a diet of animals instead of humans, the color of your eyes will also fade to gold. But you should know that it isn't easy to subsist on animal blood. It's like eating half a meal instead of a full meal, which makes being around humans extremely difficult for the first few years. Edward is still working on controlling his thirst, and you'll have to as well."

"I have to stay hidden away so I don't kill anyone?" Instinctively I knew that Dr. Cullen was right. I felt the ability and even the desire to kill lurking in me now.

"You don't want to, Esme," Edward said reassuringly. "You don't want to go out. A human came to the door the other day, and even though killing was the last thing I wanted to do, the urge just took me over. Poor Carlisle had to hold me back, and it wasn't easy because I'm stronger than he is."

Dr. Cullen spoke up. "Edward, like you, is a newborn. They're stronger and faster and harder to catch their first year."

"How long will I be a newborn?"

"A few years . . . it gradually fades."

I didn't want to be a vampire for a few minutes, nevermind a few years, even if I was finally beautiful.

"I won't do this," I announced. "You'll have to change me back." Even I, who knew almost nothing about vampires, realized this was a pointless request. There was a feeling of finality in my skin and my bones. I'd become impenetrable like a fortress.

Edward gaped at me, and the sad look returned to Dr. Cullen's face. Finally he answered. "Esme, I'm so sorry. But you're going to be a vampire forever."

"Forever?" I whispered. "But. . .but. . .I didn't _want _to live at all." My voice soared and I launched myself at him, but the blow glanced off Edward's arm. I looked up at him in surprise; I hadn't even noticed he was there. Then I remembered. We moved fast now.

"Edward, it's okay," Dr. Cullen said, reassuring him. Then he turned the full force of his golden eyes towards me, and I felt the weight of his centuries as a vampire. He might not be stronger physically than me right now, but he had an incredible inner strength.

Dr. Cullen abruptly turned and walked out the door, shutting me and Edward in the room together.

I had never wanted to cry more than I did in this moment, but again when I tried, my eyes remained dry.

"Please," I begged Edward, feeling like my world was falling apart. I had _wanted _to die. Not only would I live forever now, I was a monster.

"It's not so bad, really," he said and I knew he was lying—in the half an hour I'd been awake, I'd hated what I'd become. "We can't sleep, so I've been working on my music, and I learned French last month."

I shook my head vehemently. "I don't want to learn French! I just want to die."

"You can't," he said softly. "When Carlisle was changed, three hundred years ago, he tried to die every way he could think of because he couldn't live with the idea of killing humans. Finally, he killed and drank the blood of a deer and found he could live survive that way. He's one of the few of our kind that doesn't drink human blood."

I hated the way Edward said "our kind," like somehow I had become one of them with the addition of Dr. Cullen's venom into my bloodstream.

But how could I deny that I was irrevocably changed? I looked different. I ate different things. I did feel stronger and faster and more aware. I _had _become one of them, but I resolved that I didn't have to be a member of Carlisle's group. As soon as I could convince him to let me go, I was going to leave. I couldn't stand to be in the same house as him.

"Why?" I asked Edward.

"Why did he change us? He'd been alone for three hundred years. He wanted some company, I guess."

I hoped that Edward was oversimplifying, because I had no intention of being "some company" for a man who had taken the course I had settled on and had transformed it so completely.

I hated him, and nothing would ever change that.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks guys, for all your support and awesome reviews! I look forward to what everyone thinks of this chapter. . . .  
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**Thanks also to my betas: Angel & Twilightzoner. Also, I've put a playlist and youtube links to the songs up on my profile. Not songs for every chapter but rather a playlist for the whole story that I put together. Check it out!**

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**Carlisle**

I had not expected Esme to take to her new life very easily. After all, we all had experienced a certain period of adjustment. Edward was just nearing, I thought, the end of his. Unlike my newfound son, I was beginning to realize that Esme was going to fight her transformation and fight it with every newly changed molecule in her body.

Edward had been hesitant and scared, but we'd formed a genuine bond, and considering his alternative, he'd progressed past those initial days into a confident, powerful vampire. He controlled his thirst well, and we'd already started making small forays into more populated areas.

He'd never shut me out the way that Esme was doing, and as much as I hated to admit it to myself, the crux of this lay in the reasons for their change.

I had changed Edward because his mother had begged me to, and because he had had mere minutes to live—a brutal fatality to a barbarous disease that had claimed hundreds of thousands.

Esme, however, was a moment of weakness after centuries of restraint. Her death hadn't been a whim of fate; she'd molded her own destiny when she'd thrown herself off that cliff. I'd had no business interfering with her creation, but I'd done it anyway, daring to believe that somehow that she'd come to thank me.

After the sixth week of her self-imposed isolation in her room, I'd had more than enough to consider this incredibly foolish supposition. There was no reason for which Esme could possibly be grateful to me for snatching her from the jaws of death. She'd entered those jaws willingly, even eagerly, and I'd stolen what she wanted most.

The beautiful creature upstairs refused to leave her room, and no matter how much Edward begged for her to come hunting with him, she would not budge, even to extinguish the hunger that was no doubt tearing her apart.

Finally, a week into our stand-off, I'd gone to her. I'd taken three steps into the room before she'd nearly flown across it, in all her avenging glory, and knocked me back into the hallway wall, causing the plaster to splinter into a million shards. I'd picked myself up and made my way down the stairs not being able to even look at her. To stop the self-flagellation, I'd have to convince myself that I was undeserving of her abuse. I knew that could never happen.

Esme blamed me for ruining everything, and how could I not agree with her?

After the second week, I had taken to leaving foxes, rabbits and small deer, dead but still fresh, outside her door. The carcasses were always drained, and placed back exactly where they'd been, as if she could pretend that act of feeding had never taken place.

It was enough, I told myself, that Esme was at least eating and thus staying healthy and strong. As her creator, I could not provide anything more important than simple sustenance, but the gesture seemed small and insignificant in the face of all that I'd done to her. There was no single act, no matter how great, that could reverse the damage or suck out the venom that flowed through her veins.

I asked Edward to listen in on her mind occasionally, and so far, we were both relived to know that while her mood was deeply depressed, nothing had happened that seemed particularly untoward. Esme, it seemed, had not developed a gift the way that Edward had.

Truly, the only difficulty in Edward's change had been the dual burdens I'd placed on his too-young shoulders. Not only did he have to adjust to the all-consuming thirst for blood and his new strength and speed, but he'd also had to learn to dull the constant hum of others' thoughts that intruded upon his brain.

I had to admit that having someone in the vicinity that could read minds was an adjustment for me as well. I found that the snippets of information Edward discovered in my mind led to many discussions, some more uncomfortable for me than others. Edward had a voracious mind, and I fed it as well as I could. As soon as he was better prepared to be around humans, he would be able to go to school. But for now, he read ravenously, digesting book after book through the long, sleepless nights and the interminable days.

I wanted Esme to come out from her exile, and learn to cope as Edward had done, but as the fifth week stretched into the sixth, I began to wonder if that was possible. Theoretically, she could stay in her room indefinitely, with blood supplied by myself. I knew that I could not restrict her feeding in order to flush her out. I had committed enough egregious crimes against her. All I could do was give her the time she needed to come to terms with her new life.

Edward told me that Esme's thoughts were deeply dark and filled with hopelessness. I wanted to shed some light on the future for her, and maybe try to communicate that this life, while not ideal, could hold some promise. Unfortunately, Edward stopped me, insisting that Esme's white hot hatred of me had not palled, and in fact, with every week that passed, had only grown stronger. With time, she had even grown distrustful of Edward. Esme had purposefully and deliberately shut herself out from both of us, and effectively, from the rest of the world.

**Esme**

I'd always thought that death would be rather peaceful.

In this room, with only my thoughts to occupy me, I found that if I could learn to live with the unbearable thirst and the thought of living like this forever, _and _come to terms with my hatred of Dr. Cullen, then I thought perhaps I could find some peace, eventually.

So far, I hadn't had very much luck.

The desire I had for human blood was so all-encompassing sometimes that I hung onto the bed post, feeling the wood crumble beneath my hands, and sobbed silently and tearlessly. It was better after I fed off the animals, but still the gnawing pain never completely went away.

I told myself that it was Edward who left the animals, that it was his footsteps I could hear eerily echoing in the hallway outside my room. I told myself that it wasn't Dr. Cullen, but with my newly-enhanced sense of smell I knew that no matter what I wanted to tell myself, deep down I could hardly deny it.

When I'd first awoken, a hard knot of grief had been buried deep in my stomach, but I hadn't known exactly why it felt so strong and so permanent. I'd known about the cliff, and that I hadn't wanted to continue living a life marked only by misery, but the reasons for my feelings were hazy and indistinct. With all my time spent alone in silent contemplation, the memories were becoming sharper and clearer. As a result, my grief and anger only seemed to grow with each new day.

The leaves outside my window turned from green to red and gold, and still I didn't emerge. I wondered if I could stay here indefinitely - until my "newborn" status had passed—until I felt safe enough to leave here and go out among humans. Of course, I should have known that Dr. Cullen wouldn't permit that.

Not long after I started contemplating the idea of leaving as soon as I was more in control of my baser instincts, there was a quiet, polite knock on the door. My nerves jumped and I forced myself to stay calm. I needed to learn to control my too sensitive instincts because the sooner I did, the sooner I could leave Dr. Cullen far behind. But the scent wafting in from the crack under the door told me that this wasn't Dr. Cullen. This smell was young and fresh and full of boyish enthusiasm.

It was Edward.

I'd pushed him away initially, unable to bear the comparison of him to the child I had lost. Having him near made the pain stronger, not weaker. Now I could sense his hesitation, bordering on fear, from the other side of the door, and I hated that it was me who had made him feel this way. And for the first time since I'd woken up as this _monster, _I thought of something besides my own misery, and I almost hated myself for taking this long to push the focus away from my self-centeredness.

"Yes?" I answered softly, trying to make my voice as gentle as possible, so I didn't scare him away again. He was a nice boy and meant well. He only wanted me to understand that in his mind, the situation wasn't nearly as bleak as it was in mine.

But Edward couldn't possibly comprehend the demons I was wrestling with. That wasn't his fault, and I should never have taken it out on him.

The door opened gradually, and sure enough, Edward poked his head in, his copper-colored hair as messy as always. In that moment, I realized just how young he was - _too _young to have been the victim of a sickness that had not only claimed his human life, but doomed him to a half-life. Except, I forced myself to remember, the sickness hadn't been the deciding factor in his descent into living hell. No, that decision had been entirely up to the estimable Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

"Edward, it's good to see you," I said politely. I found it almost amusing that despite my suddenly killer instincts, I could still remember the lessons of etiquette that my mother had drilled into me. It hadn't been that long ago in actual years, but with the vast gulf separating my new life from the old, it seemed like ancient history.

"And you too, Esme." Edward entered the room carefully, watching me with those oddly-colored eyes that were becoming more similar to Dr. Cullen's by the day. He sat down on the bed across from me and reached for my hand.

It was odd that even though our skin was now totally different than when we were human, when we touched, I felt nothing strange—just a warm hand in mine. The same way my son's hand had felt in mine, except his had been a miniature version of Edward's. If I had been human still, I would have been blinking away tears right now, but the most I could manage was an exacerbation of the pain roiling inside of me.

"Edward," I managed to ask, through the pain fogging my throat, "how old are you?"

"I had just turned seventeen, ma'am, when Carlisle found me."

So much potential, washed away in the devastating power of a sickness too virulent to stop.

"You must be. . .grateful to Dr. Cullen for sparing your life," I managed to choke out. This conversation had quickly veered away from polite small talk, and I supposed I shouldn't be surprised. I was hardly in the frame of mind to have a chit-chat about the weather.

Edward looked up at me with those incredibly clear eyes, and it was almost as if my thoughts were mirrored there. I felt as if he could sense my inner desolation.

"Esme, Dr. Cullen isn't a bad man. He changed me because my mother begged him to save me, and he did what he had to do to keep his promise. He's been immensely kind to me and he would be to you, if you would let him. You shouldn't hate him as much as you do."

I stared at him in astonishment. Though I'd refused to leave the room, I hadn't told Edward how much I detested Dr. Cullen. I hadn't even told Dr. Cullen.

"How did you know that I hated him?" I demanded of Edward.

He shrugged and tried to keep his tone even and casual, but I could almost _smell _the alarm rising off him. "It seemed like you were angry with him."

"I am," I conceded, and then I looked hard into his eyes. "You know something, Edward. Somehow, you know everything."

He sighed. "I'm not supposed to tell you, Esme. Carlisle doesn't want to scare you."

I laughed a little hysterically. "Scare me? _Scare me? _I don't think I would be astonished if he paraded a werewolf in front of me."

"Esme," Edward said calmly, rubbing my hand in a soothing way, "sometimes when a human is changed into a vampire, they develop a gift. I don't think you have, but when Carlisle changed me, I did."

Before he even said the words, I knew what they would be. How else would he be able to know the depth of my abhorrence for Dr. Cullen?

"I can read minds," he finished. I thought maybe I should be angry with him, because he had clearly peeked into my thoughts, but surprisingly, the motherly instinct I held so dear took over instead. Maybe it was how he looked at me with the expression of a scared boy, waiting to be reprimanded.

"That must have been terrifying," I said reassuringly.

He nodded a little. "Sometimes it's so loud I can't block it out. But Carlisle is teaching me to dull the noise a little bit. I didn't mean to read your mind, well, except when Carlisle asked me too."

That did cause me to pause. It was harmless enough, I supposed, if Edward overheard me accidentally, but to have Carlisle purposefully have him eavesdrop? That offended me deeply.

Edward continued. "Esme, your thoughts are so sad," he said gripping my hands tighter in his. "Your little boy. . .when you think about him, it reminds me of my mother."

I swallowed hard. Of course he had overheard that particular part of my past—I'd been dwelling on it almost exclusively since I'd woken up.

"Yes," I whispered. "That's why I died. . . ."

"Esme," he said and then paused, clearing his throat. "Maybe. . .we could talk about it. Your little boy and my mother."

I tried to push out the automatic pain at the thought of sharing my most private, grief-stricken thoughts with this sweet boy, trying to focus instead on what he was saying. Then, suddenly, I understood.

He missed his mother. He couldn't talk about it with Carlisle, and because he sensed my loss as well, he thought maybe we could help each other.

I dismissed the idea of him being able to help me. Nothing could ever alleviate the pain that losing my boy caused me, but the mother inside me desperately wanted to help him with his pain.

"I think we could do that," I said slowly.

He smiled wide, and if I'd still had a heart, it would have broken all over again. There was something so unfair about this beautiful, eager-to-please, _sweet _boy having the instincts of a cold-blooded killer.

"Tomorrow," he announced, "we'll go hunting. You will like it."

I opened my mouth to argue with him. After all, I was not going to leave this room until I'd developed a strong enough aversion to human blood that I could leave and never look back.

"No, Esme," he interrupted, and his voice was final, "you need to come hunting. The sooner you learn to hunt for yourself, the sooner you can leave."

I found that his logic was sound, and I gave a small nod. He got off up the bed and walked to the door.

When the door closed and again I was surrounded by silence, and to my utter shock, a little bit more peace than I'd had before Edward's visit.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: The more I write on Eve, the more epic this story becomes. Really I had no idea that an examination of the first couple themselves would delve so deeply into the other existing relationships, but so far, that seems to be happening. And, also, the more chapters I write, the more excited I become. That, I think, is good news for all of you :)**

**I'm going to be out of town from Thursday morning to Sunday night, but I'll be blackberrying it, so PM me or review or post on my thread on the Twilighted forums and I'll answer!  
**

**Thanks to my betas, Angel & Twilightzoner, and my honorary beta and long distance crush, TheEdwardEmmett.**

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**Carlisle**

"Are you insane?" I barked at Edward, who, to my utter frustration, simply shrugged off my anger and passed by me to walk out the door.

I followed after him. "Edward. Why? Why would you help her leave here?"

Edward stopped abruptly in his tracks, his feet crushing the fallen leafs to dust underneath him. His expression was agonized. Every time I thought that maybe I'd understood what it was like to live with a gift of Edward's magnitude, I always learned some new horror.

And from Edward's face, I knew the horror was what resided inside Esme's mind.

"Tell me," I begged, my voice low and pleading. I'd ruined her life—if that was even what it could be called anymore. I had to know the worst of myself, the extent of the damage that I'd caused.

"No." The look in his gold eyes was the bleakest I'd ever seen it. Even bleaker than when I'd doomed _him_. He started walking again, toward the forest. I didn't want to follow him, but I knew I had to. Understanding Esme's hell was now my own personal purgatory.

Edward started running and I followed, though I knew I couldn't keep up for very long. Luckily, he didn't even try to lose me. Branches whizzed by our heads, and fallen limbs cracked under our feet, but I knew Edward wasn't running as fast as he could. He was letting me follow, but for what reason, I was not sure.

Finally, he stopped and turned to face me, his eyes blazing, his face contorted in anger.

"You _knew_," he yelled.

I wanted to lie and say no, I hadn't known that Esme had committed suicide, but I couldn't. Besides, he already knew more of the truth than I did—one of the benefits of being able to read minds. My head dropped down to my chest, until all I could see were the individual hatched white threads of my doctor's coat. I was so ashamed of my own selfish actions that I could barely look my own son in the eyes.

"Carlisle," he yelled again. "She mourns. . .mourns like nothing I have ever . . . heard."

Guilt swelled inside of me. Killing Esme was unforgivable; to force Edward to listen helplessly was almost worse.

"Yes," I sobbed, mourning my inability to cry for the first time in decades. "I changed her knowing she wanted to die."

"I don't understand," Edward said, and he dropped down on a log, his limbs sprawling carelessly over the forest floor. I wanted to explain to him _why _I had broken down and, for the second time in almost as many years, created another abomination just like me. But I couldn't, maybe because I didn't fully understand myself.

"She was injured—badly. Mortally. You saw her." I knew Edward was smarter than this statement, and I waited for his contradiction. It didn't come. He only sighed, and that told me even more. He knew I was lying, but he didn't want to hurt me by accusing me of such misdeeds. He wanted me to tell him of my own volition. He wanted me to confess, as though he was a priest and I was his abject, guilt-ridden transgressor.

And God help me, I wanted to. I had taken Esme's life in my own hands and snuffed it out, needlessly and gratuitously. In all my years I had fought against being the demon I was, but how could I deny that I had reverted back to my original?

"Carlisle," Edward said in a low voice. "I know your thoughts. I don't want to listen, but they are. . .suffocating me. The same way Esme's thoughts do."

I looked up, shocked. "What does Esme think about?"

Edward shook his head slowly, and I knew I had put too large of a burden on him by weighing him down with Esme's thoughts. With Esme's desire for death.

"She. . .desires death. More than desires. She _lusts _after death. The peace it would bring her. She sees herself as a monster—worse than a monster. A demon. A fiend. She wants to leave as soon as she can."

Edward's voice was hypnotically even, but I could sense the turbulence of emotion roiling beneath. He was taking Esme's situation personally, and how could I blame him? Being a newborn himself, he still grappled with these same moral dilemmas. In fact, I knew that at times they consumed him more than he even let on. I knew because I had felt the same way at my own conception—even to the point where I had tried to end the unnatural life the other vampire had imposed upon me.

But to further saddle him with the epic torment that Esme felt? I was certainly no better than I had been, collapsed in a hovel in London, desperately trying not to kill any humans.

"Your thoughts are bleak," Edward stated, and I couldn't disagree. In all my years, I had come to terms with my destiny—even trying to make the best of it by saving the humans that my senses commanded me to kill. But now I felt no different than the beast inside. I had given into a desire greater than my desire to be morally upright.

I heard Edward's sharp intake of breath, and my eyes closed in defeat. He had heard, of course, and had finally realized why I had killed her.

"You feel. . .affection . . .for her," Edward surmised, a note of wonder in his voice. "Is _that _why you changed her?"

I knew then that I would have to tell Edward the story of when I'd met Esme previously, and how she had captured my attention even as a young, innocent girl.

"I met Esme ten years ago."

Edward gaped. "You'd met her _before_? I can't believe you managed to hide it from me—you _both _did."

"I'm sure the last thing Esme thinks about is the affection that developed between us that summer. She only wants to hate me now," I said, unable to keep the bitterness from leaking into my voice. Deep down, I had been looking for someone to share eternity with, but in reality, I was the last being on earth Esme would ever choose.

"I've never known you to think of her," Edward argued, and I couldn't deny he was right. I _didn't _think of the Esme of ten summers ago.

Even though the Esme of today was fifty times more beautiful, her looks enhanced by the venom during her change, I knew that the woman I'd banned from my thoughts was the sprite of a girl I'd met before.

I wanted _that _Esme, not this bitter, vindictive woman who wanted nothing more than to leave her creator behind.

"You're lying," Edward said softly. "You want her anyway, bitter and vindictive or not."

"No," I insisted, abjectly horrified that perhaps Edward could see the truth of my consciousness better than I could myself. All these years of steadfast self-examination and this was the result.

"Yes," Edward growled, suddenly springing to his feet. "It was _selfish_ to change Esme. You saw her and wanted her and took her—with no regard for her feelings."

With a newborn's speed, he sprang on me so suddenly that I had no time to react and no opportunity deflect the blows he rained down on me.

For half a second, every muscle in my powerful, trained body tensed for a fight, but going against every instinct I had, I relaxed and took the beating that Edward doled out.

He was powerfully strong, still retaining some of his newborn potency, but even then I didn't feel much pain, if any, and I certainly would have welcomed more. I couldn't shake the idea that I deserved this and whatever else that Edward could heap on my head.

"Fight, damn you," Edward snarled, and my muscles tensed again, before I could force them to their previous lax state.

Feeling victory close in the form of my unavoidable reaction, Edward pressed harder on my neck.

"No," I choked out, "I won't fight you. You're like a son to me."

With an angry muttered oath, Edward leapt off me. By the time I was up off the ground, brushing the dirt and ground leaves off my clothes, he had moved away some distance, and I could barely see him.

As I traced his footsteps, I noticed he had stopped moving and was now standing still, looking out over something. A cliff. And then I knew where Edward had brought me. He'd led me to the scene of where Esme should have died.

I walked up next to him, a gorge of hate for myself rising in my throat. "I won't protest," I explained to him as calmly as I could. "I know you're right. I shouldn't have saved Esme."

Edward ignored my statement and started a different subject instead. "You said I was like your son."

"I meant it. You must know how I feel about you."

"And is that what Esme will be? Like your daughter?" His disgust with me was rife in his voice.

Edward could read minds, and though he was usually polite and tried to leave my private thoughts private, it seemed as if Esme's mental state had prompted a rather concerted effort on his part to discover why I'd changed her. What he'd found was abhorrent to him. I was surprised he'd even found it; it was inherently hateful to me also, and I'd buried it so deep I thought he'd never hear it.

"You can't," Edward said in a hard voice. "I won't let you."

I'd been living with Edward long enough to know he was a kind and conscientious boy, but I had never imagined that he would connect so strongly to Esme—even to tell me that he'd stop me from making her my mate.

"No, no, Edward. I would never now. It was a . . . passing thought when I changed her. I promise you, I don't think of her that way anymore."

"Good," Edward replied with finality. "I wanted you to know that I would not stand for it."

I chuckled humorlessly. "Esme would never have me, in any case. And I should hope you know that I would never force her."

Edward turned towards me, looking at me straight in the eyes, his expression unbearably serious. "I want you to promise. That you will _never_ try."

I knew that Esme hated me—how could she not? But I had a feeling that Edward had discerned something latent in Esme's thoughts that was prompting this promise. I did not ask why, but I nodded my assent. "I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

AN: I am going to offer my abject apologies for the length of time since the last update. I swear, every update isn't going to take over a month. Very soon I am going to be down to only TWO stories to update, including this one, and I will be able to devote a lot more time than I have been.

Thanks for all the great reviews on chapter 5--I am so glad you guys love this so much!

Also thanks to Angel and Twilightzoner for getting this ready for your eyes.

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**Esme**

Standing in front of the door to the rest of the world, not for the first time I wished I could stay inside this safe haven forever. I hated the obligation I felt to leave the room, but I'd promised Edward. I couldn't stay inside and hide until everything ground to dust beneath my heel.

Begrudging Edward—but mostly Dr. Cullen—I grasped the handle of the door and grimaced when I saw I'd gripped it far too tightly. Taunting me was an imprint of my hand molded deeply into the metal. To say I longed for normalcy again was an understatement. I would have even gladly traded this freak existence for the same life I'd had before. A growl rose from my throat as another wave of rage against Dr. Cullen crested through me. Every time I thought I had started to come to terms with his unorthodox action, I learned of yet a new facet of my anger against him. I was beginning to believe that leaving was the only thing I could do to get away from the constant antagonism.

I knew something was wrong the moment I hesitatingly opened the bedroom door to venture out of my self-imposed exile. The strangely tense atmosphere wasn't something I would have ever noticed as a human, but as a vampire, I couldn't help but feel the difference in my senses and how they responded. I couldn't just smell fresh bread baking or a field full of lilac. Due to my new finely honed vampiric powers, I could sense emotions and feelings, and I almost thought if I worked hard enough, thoughts.

I could taste on my tongue the unease that had wafted up the staircase and gathered en masse on the landing outside the doorway. As I stood on the landing and cautiously let the scent fill my dormant lungs, I began to pick out the individual threads of emotion.

I sensed not only the overwhelming feeling of unease but also undertones of anger and frustration and the agony of self-hatred. And surprisingly, none of them originated from me.

I crept towards the edge of the staircase and looked down. Nobody was there, but that was expected—I could hear faint sounds originating from another room but nothing close by.

Though I had been trying to learn to conserve my strength and not let it overwhelm my movements, I knew I still sounded like a herd of elephants, even though I was climbing down the staircase as delicately as I could.

At least I sounded incredibly noisy to my own ears. No doubt to any normal human I would sound as silent as I looked beautiful. Over the last few weeks, I'd spent much of my time staring in the mirror that Dr. Cullen had given me, memorizing the face that was so different but still so much the same. I'd traced over my silken smooth skin, feeling the slight shifting of my bone structure that transformed me from simply a pretty young girl to a breathtakingly striking woman.

I remembered the surprise in Dr. Cullen's eyes as he'd looked at me the first time, and I wondered idly if I had "turned out" better than he'd expected me to. No doubt, I thought with an acid fury, he wanted only beautiful specimens to fill his "family." Edward was a beautiful boy—not just outside but inside too. Dr. Cullen was clearly thrilled with both his charms and his incredible gift.

I felt a sudden and irrational desire to confront Dr. Cullen and demand his opinion of my own transformation. As my foot landed on the last step of the staircase and I turned the corner, I saw him and nearly opened my mouth to do just that, but stopped just in time. Suddenly, I was not so sure of my own reasons for the question, and the idea that I cared what Dr. Cullen thought of my new face was disconcerting.

Dr. Cullen looked up in surprise, clearly not expecting to see me downstairs at all. Perhaps Edward had not told him about our plans to go hunting together.

"Esme," he said, and his voice was clear and cold and distant—yet I could still sense a dark, deep undercurrent of something else there. The vampire inside of me wanted to identify it as longing, but the humanity still left refused to believe it. If Dr. Cullen had ever wanted me, he would have wanted me as I had been—not as this _monster_.

Dr. Cullen paused and I could see again that he was flustered, and that in itself was surprising. He was several hundred years old. Surely, he knew how to deal with one newborn vampire?

"You have come downstairs," he said, and this time the longing was replaced by gratitude. It wasn't directed towards me, but his son for managing to convince me to rejoin life, such as it was, again.

I nodded. "Edward and I are going hunting."

Dr. Cullen took a step closer, and every instinct inside me flared. I desperately wanted to flee from him, but I made myself hold still. Even though I had made no secret of my hatred of what he was and what he had done, deep down I didn't want him to know how viscerally he affected me. Better he not know that his very presence made me want to use my newly discovered powers to obliterate him completely.

He reached out a hand toward me, and before I could think to react, one finger was resting on my shoulder. I stiffened, and of course, he felt it.

"I know you hate me," he said, and his voice was even, as if we were discussing the weather, "but I would ask you to tolerate my presence a bit longer. I feel a . . .responsibility towards you."

"Why?" I demanded harshly.

"I created you," he explained slowly, as if I somehow could not understand that he was a decent person who would take care of his own waste.

"You _damned _me," I hissed.

The hand dropped off my shoulder abruptly. "Of course."

"Esme!" I turned towards Edward's voice, glad to be able to look at something other than the demon who had "created" me.

"Shall we go?" I said. Just ten minutes earlier, it had felt too soon to leave my safe haven upstairs, but now that I'd made the voyage downstairs, I was more than ready to get away, if only for a little while.

I knew then that I would have to leave this place permanently if I ever wanted to come to terms with the fate that Dr. Cullen had so callously dealt me.

"You shouldn't hate Carlisle so," Edward ventured cautiously as we climbed up the hill into the forest surrounding the small cottage.

Edward had desperately wanted to run—both to see my first reaction to my new ability, and, I'd thought, to do it himself. It seemed so obvious to me that with over two years of vampire life, Edward had already come to terms with his destiny and had learned to take what small joy he could from his capabilities. Apparently, "running" was one of those that he especially enjoyed.

I, however, was not yet ready to take that final step into my own new life. I cherished each last little bit of humanity that I could and refused to travel as he wanted. "We will walk," I had told him firmly, trying to ignore the slight downturn to his lower lip and his saddened expression.

Strangely, though, my body and my mind didn't seem to agree. I wanted to walk, but my body was desperate to stretch its latent and novel power.

I decided that Edward had taken a far too lenient view of Dr. Cullen's actions and that I would have to inform him why I hated the man who had changed us and educate him on why he should follow my lead. Edward was a sweet boy, and he didn't deserve this hideous fate. For him to have accepted his change and Dr. Cullen's participation in it so easily seemed wrong.

"What Dr. Cullen did was immoral," I told him, forcing myself to focus on the rocks and not look up at Edward's openly confused expression.

"Carlisle did the best he could. I was dying. My mother asked him to save me." I knew if I turned around to look at him, I would see the stubborn set of his face.

"Dr. Cullen is a doctor," I said patiently. "No doubt what your mother was asking him to do was save you medically, not doom you to a half-life existing off the blood of living creatures."

Edward said nothing to this. I took that as a positive step. Perhaps he had already thought of this, and I was simply giving voice to his deepest feelings. Maybe he resented Dr. Cullen's interference as much as I did.

We kept climbing, the air growing crisp, but I didn't get cold, even though I was wearing no jacket. Clearly, the weather no longer affected me the same way it had before.

"Your skin," Edward said, "it's like stone now. You can't get cold."

I remembered then that Edward could hear everything I was thinking. Before I could open my mouth to explain that I'd forgotten, and that I hadn't meant to speculate on his own feelings regarding Dr. Cullen, he spoke again.

"You're wrong," he said, and his voice had changed. It was stronger and harder and much more determined. "Carlisle could not save me medically. I was literally about to die - the same as you, Esme."

"I didn't want to be saved," I argued. "I _chose_."

There was again silence, and I refocused on our climb, noticing with a little shock that we were suddenly going much faster than we had been before. In fact, it felt almost as if we were . . .flying.

"You're fine, Esme," Edward said reassuringly. "Just keep going. You just started running, almost without thinking about it. I told you, it just comes as second nature."

I relaxed as our feet flew over the underbrush, at times feeling like we were barely touching the ground. Trees flew past my head, and yet I felt as if I could still sense the obstructions as easily as if we were walking slowly through the forest. Edward had been right—this was definitely one of the better parts of being a vampire. After what seemed like hours, Edward slowed and I followed suit.

"Why are we stopping?" I asked, hating to lose the exhilaration of moving so quickly. I was suddenly happier—and _freer—_than I'd been since I was human and maybe quite a bit before that.

"You need to hunt," Edward said matter-of-factly, "and this is a good place. We're very far away from any human."

I paused but didn't know what to do. I wondered if it came naturally, like the running had. I was about to ask Edward, but the scent hit me first.

During my human life I'd experienced a lot of powerful emotions: intense happiness during my childhood and then, later in life, soul-wrenching sadness and the agony of disappointed hopes. Nothing, however, could possibly compare to the way the smell of the deer hit me and turned every molecule in my body inside out with the intensity of longing for its blood.

I thought I'd already felt the strongest lust for blood I would ever have when I'd awoken in Carlisle's bed fresh from my change. I was wrong.

The scent of the deer was intoxicating—I started running after it instinctively, and as I did, I felt the human side of me fade away. Never in my short life had I felt so incredibly focused on one single thing. My entire nature was driving me to grab it and demolish it and take from it what I craved.

I caught the deer easily, perhaps only a few hundred yards from where I'd first caught it's irresistible aroma. Before I could even logically think about how next to proceed, the choice was neatly plucked from my fingers by a thirst that seemed larger than me. I neatly twisted its neck and buried my teeth deep into its warm fur, where I could nearly feel the blood pulsing hotly beneath the thin skin.

By the time Edward reached me, the deer was empty of blood and I had collapsed next to it, flush with victory, euphoric with the thrill of the hunt, and yet devastated by what I had done. Drinking the already-dead animals outside my door had seemed neater somehow—less elementally animalistic.

It was impossible to deny my true nature when I was driven to commit acts such as these.

Edward crouched next to me, and his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders as my chest buckled under dry heaving sobs.

I knew then why Edward had insisted I go hunting. It was not to teach me to care for myself—considering my new feral nature, killing animals so I could feed was hardly difficult.

No, he had wanted me to experience the final break between what had been and what now was. I was a vampire. I would want to kill things. I _would _kill things. And maybe not just animals. This was the fate I had to come to terms with.

In the midst of this revelation, Dr. Cullen appeared in my mind as I had seen him today, and in that moment, my hatred of before paled in comparison to the ugly resentment infusing me now.

I bowed my head to my chest, aching with abject loathing the level to which I had been reduced by my "savior."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: OH MY GOD. I actually updated. Yes. Updated.**

**First of all, I have a promise to make all of you. This story is going to update, from now on, EVERY WEDNESDAY, barring natural or personal disaster. Yep, you heard me right. EVERY WEDNESDAY.**

**Second of all, while this is still _technically _a Pre-Twilight canon story--and I do consider it canon--there are some details coming up that may be considered by some to be AU. Just FYI. I'm not going to directly contradict anything that is considered canon, but I am . . .filling in "holes" you could say.  
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**Third, my beta is totally awesome. Trinity did a last minute job and she did it brilliantly. Also, Angel and TheEdwardEmmett were great resources to help me write this. And to all my great WC buddies, you girls rock my socks.  
**

**Oh, and lastly. Esme and Carlisle are the property of Stephenie Meyer. I do with them what I can.**

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**Carlisle**

I smelled him long before I saw him and knew he was waiting for me to come home—not just waiting for me to appear at the house, but a significant distance away so that we could converse without being overheard. I did not think that Esme would necessarily listen in on purpose, but her vampiric senses were still so new to her that she might do so unintentionally, and I knew her dislike of me would only grow if she thought Edward and I were talking about her.

Every week or so**, **Edward would meet me as I walked home from the hospital in town and we would talk about the situation with our newest family member. However, we'd spoken only a few days before and I knew that Edward would not have met me here unless something new had come up.

I wondered as I approached the small clearing by the house that Edward and I frequented when I had started thinking of Esme as a member of the family. She had clearly expressed that she had no desire to be part of it, but I couldn't deny that I considered her one of us and that I had been doing so for a while.

Edward was lying on the ground, stretched out and staring at the stars, but he sat up as I approached.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, more worried than I felt comfortable acknowledging. Despite her opinion of me, I felt incredibly protective of Esme, like she was a precious gift that I couldn't bear to part with.

"Esme is fine," Edward said shortly, but I could clearly see something bothering him and he wasn't sure how to tell me.

I sat down and waited until he was ready. I had a hunch that Edward's presence tonight had everything to do with something he had overheard from Esme's thoughts. Though he was continually improving on how to interpret and analyze what he overheard, occasionally something would stump him. He'd confided in me that he found Esme's mind particularly difficult**,** and that he tried to stay out of it for his own sanity**,** if not for her own privacy.

"Esme wants to leave," he finally said and I felt a ripple of relief. We had discussed this problem before and I'd assured Edward that in time, she would rethink her decision to leave us. Of course, I was betting on the idea that she would come to see us the same way we saw her—as family. I knew she had long since accepted Edward and they were close. Her relationship with me was a different matter entirely.

"No," Edward said, reading my mind. "She's not going to change her mind. Not now, not tomorrow, not in six months."

"Then we'll give her a year," I said, refusing to get upset over an opinion that I was sure with careful persuasion, we could change.

Edward shook his head, and I noticed a finality in his eyes that I did not like. "It won't matter. She's going to leave. She's determined. Every day she tries to convince me that she could resist a human."

"Perhaps she could," I said optimistically, knowing it was a lie. Edward knew it was a lie, too, and didn't even have to read my mind to know it.

Silence fell between us and I could not help but imagine Esme as she sat up in her room, the darkening dusk falling around her as she brushed her hair with the silver-backed brush and stared into the mirror, learning her new, beautiful face. I desperately tried not to lose myself in this contemplation very often, but as of late, I had been slowly failing.

I heard the warning growl in Edward's throat and I immediately dismissed the image of Esme out of my mind. "You promised," Edward ground out, and I dipped my head in concession. I _had _promised Edward that I would not pursue Esme as a man pursues a woman. However, I had not promised that I wouldn't think of her on occasion.

"It's more than 'on occasion,'" Edward corrected and I could feel his smugness radiating off him.

I decided that arguing was pointless. Trying not think of Esme would be like trying to force Pandora to close her box. It couldn't be done, no matter how hard I tried. Turning her had released something inside me that could not be returned to its neat little compartment with the impenetrable lock. I couldn't deny that I had avoided thinking about the human version of Esme Platt after encountering her, and even though I'd thought her undeniably fascinating it hadn't been so difficult to stop myself.

Now it was impossible. Her scent was everywhere, even though she persisted in keeping to her chamber upstairs. The taste of her human blood still lingered on my tongue. The image of her beauty was stamped onto my brain. I found myself ridiculously yearning for a single kind word from her soft lips, when I knew that all I would receive was utter disdain. Not for the first time I wished that I could resign myself to her ultimate departure.

"We'll have to stop her," I said with resolve. "She is part of the Cullen family now."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Edward's voice was ripe with curiosity and I had a feeling that he'd been doing more than just listening to what I'd said. He knew about my internal struggle not to let Esme gain control of my thoughts.

I had to admit that while I was definitely resolved to keep Esme a Cullen, I had a very unclear idea as to how to accomplish the task. Shrugging, I thought pointedly that I hoped Edward had an idea to stop her.

Edward gave a short chuckle. "Esme and I are friends. She doesn't want to leave this place because of me."

Ruefully, I had to finally acknowledge that if Esme was to stay, it was going to be because I asked her to.

"Carlisle, she thinks about you too," Edward volunteered, and I jerked in surprise. "And not just about how much she hates you. Actually, she's struggling with that. She doesn't hate you as much as she thought she did."

"I don't understand."

"She wants to hate you. She tries to hold onto her anger, but she is finding it difficult because it's fading. She is not sure why. I think it's a combination of factors honestly," Edward explained patiently.

I motioned for him to continue, trying not to appear too eager. I had thought Esme softening towards me was impossible, but I couldn't deny the very idea thrilled me.

"Esme is adjusting to her new life. The human memories are fading—and with that, what forced her off that cliff. And it would be genuinely difficult for her to stay truly angry at any one person for very long. She feels deeply, but the essence of Esme is grace."

"Forgiveness," I murmured, and I wondered if Edward had even heard.

"You will talk to her," Edward said, and he was insistent. In this he was more the father and I was the son, and I was glad to take his direction. I was desperate for anything that could bridge the vast yawning gap between Esme and I.

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**Esme**

Edward and I went hunting every day. He said it would help increase my ability to resist human blood, if I ever came into contact with any. But I didn't. Both Edward and Dr. Cullen made sure that I stayed away from all the humans. I didn't ask if anyone in the town even knew I existed because I knew the answer. I was not only supposed to be dead, but if anyone knew I was here, they'd inevitably show up to "visit" and without saying the words, we all knew that the outcome would be disastrous. My room, though pleasant in a simplistic fashion, had begun to feel like a cell, the house like a jail.

While we hunted the compulsion no longer grabbed ahold of me and took over like it was a separate entity within me—I had learned to control it, instead of letting it control me. Each night when we returned home, I would tell Edward that I felt like I could be around humans, but he would look at me with an inscrutable expression and insist that I had no idea the power with which I was dealing. One afternoon I pushed him and he quietly, soberly informed me that I had no comprehension of how close to an animal I truly was.

He was wrong. How could I not know? I felt the venom race through my sensitized system the second I even caught a hint of _animal _blood. Human blood, I thought to myself, could not be so much worse. Even Edward had to admit that I had developed excellent control for so young a vampire.

I had been trying to come to terms with the idea of what I was, with the hope that that sooner I could, the sooner I could learn to control my power, and then I could leave Dr. Cullen behind forever. His presence no longer pained me as it had, but still, he continued to be an incredible annoyance—just lingering on the edges of my consciousness. Never really present, but always present at the exact same time. Edward and I continued to debate the origin of our lives as vampires and Dr. Cullen's hand in it, but I wondered if Edward noticed that the strength of my arguments had faded considerably.

Objectively I _knew _I was still furious with him. I still wanted to leave as much as I had before. But the fire of my anger had dimmed to just a fraction of its previous strength. I was unsure if this was due to my growing friendship with Edward, the continuing adjustment to my new life and body or perhaps that it was difficult to remain furiously angry for months on end.

I pondered this question every night, alone in my room, after Edward and I had returned from our hunting trip. I also wondered if perhaps I should confide my growing complacency to Edward, who was my only friend in this new life. I debated for a week before I realized that it was possible he was simply picking the thoughts from my brain like ripe oranges and if I could have blushed, I would have flushed bright red at that moment.

Edward's gift was easier for me to adjust to, mainly because it was difficult to remember that he possessed such extraordinary power. He was beautiful, of course, because we all were, but as I grew to know him over those hunting afternoons, I began to understand how much of a truly _normal _boy he was. Edward might be extraordinarily intelligent and gifted musically, but he was still inherently normal. He missed playing baseball with his friends, he confided in me, and we talked of perhaps playing a vampire version of catch. Edward had cautioned though that we'd have to wait until a thunderstorm as the sound of our bodies playing would surely make a large amount of noise. I didn't ask Edward if he'd asked Dr. Cullen to join us. I didn't want to know.

Now that I was properly "taken care of," I noticed that Dr. Cullen had started spending a great deal more time at the local clinic, working hours that I was sure would give someone the idea that he wasn't human. But Dr. Cullen's hours or his presence in the community wasn't any of my business. So I deliberately avoided thinking of him, and it wasn't too difficult since he was absent from the little house so much.

Then, one day six months after my change, I descended the stairs with my mind occupied with how beautiful the day looked and where Edward would take me hunting today, and I came face to face with Dr. Cullen.

He stood at the bottom of the wooden staircase, his hands clasped in front of him, not wearing the white coat he typically wore to work in town.

"Esme," he said quietly, "it's lovely to see you."

I frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Edward asked me if perhaps I would like to accompany you hunting today."

Before I could retort that he was lying because Edward would _never _subject me to his presence without telling me first, Edward stepped out of the living room and I knew by the slightly tense expression on his face that Dr Cullen was in fact telling the truth.

"Esme, Carlisle is going to accompany us today," he said simply, not indicating that there was anything untoward about the additional company.

Re-arranging my facial features into glacial annoyance, I swept off towards the front door, moving fast but not yet running. As soon as I was clear of the house, I took off as fast as my legs could take me. Even though I was beginning to lose my newborn strength and speed, I knew that I could probably still outrun Edward if I really wanted to. Dr. Cullen, I was sure, stood no chance of keeping up. An excellent way, I thought as the trees flashed by me, of making my point.

A minute later I glanced back, curious to see how Edward and Dr. Cullen were faring. Satisfied that I saw no sign of them I kept going, heading towards my favorite hunting ground, which was rife with my preferred meal—mountain lion.

In retrospect, I should have picked a more mysterious route. I should also have paid a lot better attention to my surroundings, but I'd let my anger at Dr. Cullen take over my system and I was preoccupied with recalling every single thing I hated about him.

Thus, I didn't even see Dr. Cullen standing front of me until I hit him straight on, sending us both tumbling to the ground, dislodging several large pines and an enormous boulder as we rolled to a stop.

I leapt to my feet, eyes narrowing with anger.

"What was that?" I demanded an explanation as I stood over his fallen form on the ground. I'd taken a brief second to glance around but Edward was nowhere to be found. I found that impossible to believe because I _knew _Edward was faster than Dr. Cullen. Which left the obvious conclusion that Edward had deliberately stayed back, permitting this confrontation to happen.

Dr. Cullen picked himself up slowly from the ground, brushing the leaves and forest debris carefully and deliberately from his suit as he did so, not once meeting my insistent gaze.

Now that the surge of fear and surprise had purged itself out of my system, I found that it was difficult to stay angry with him again. I furiously tried to run through all the reasons why I hated him—and they were myriad and varied by this point—but I found myself empty as he finally looked up at me.

"Esme, we need to talk." He didn't seem angry, but I could sense his frustration with me. I decided I wouldn't mind a venue to air my grievances with him**,** so I shrugged my agreement.

"Come. Let's sit," he suggested, finding a nearby boulder and settling down on it. I selected one that was close but certainly not too close. I had no intention of becoming friendly with him.

"Dr. Cullen," I said stiffly, "I want you to know that I intend to leave as soon as I'm able. As soon as Edward thinks I can withstand the pull of human blood."

He shook his head and I thought I saw a ghost of a smile on his face. "Call me Carlisle." His voice was still calm, but I could hear the insistence in it.

I supposed that I could grant him this one thing. I intended to leave as soon as I could, so it was negligible to call him by his given name while I was here. I noted that he had yet to really address my impending departure and I decided rather smugly that it was because he knew he couldn't stop me. Soon enough, I'd be free of this prison.

And then, before I could even finish my thought, he slammed the door back shut, forcing back into the cage he'd created for me. "Edward doesn't get to decide if you're able to leave us, Esme. That's my decision to make as your creator."

"I don't understand. Are there vampire laws? I can leave whenever I wish," I protested hotly.

"There aren't rules, not in the traditional sense of the word. There are, of course, some guidelines that the ruling vampire clan in Italy asks that we follow—but these are not what I am referring to, Esme."

I was desperately curious about the vampires in Italy, but I kept my lips firmly sealed, waiting for him to continue.

Carlisle sighed and began to remove his suit jacket. All it took was that simple movement of arms through fabric, and a memory of my human life came rushing back.

The first time I had ever seen Dr. Carlisle Cullen I had been 17 years old and suffering from a broken leg. He'd come to our family farm to set it and before he'd done so, he'd removed his suit jacket in deference to the boiling summer heat. The stiff, starched fabric of his white shirt had slid against the pale skin underneath and I'd caught a glimpse of milk-white muscles underneath. I'd been so young, I hadn't understand the sudden surge of adrenaline that had pumped through my system. I hadn't understood why my hands had grown clammy and trembling as he drew close, his delicious scent filling and overwhelming my senses.

But I knew now, I thought bitterly, as I looked at him. And I knew why he didn't look a minute older than he'd been that day so many years ago. He was frozen in time, a still-perfect male specimen, and God help me, I still found him attractive.

I thought I'd left it behind, back in my human past, and I'd maintained this by resurrecting my hatred of him every time my awareness of him as a man surfaced. I'd been successful every single time until now, but today, it was impossible to deny that I still found him as unbearably handsome as I had so many years ago.

"I feel tied to you. You're my creation." He held up his hand as if I would argue the point with him, but I was suddenly too fascinated by the way I could see every individual every individual golden hair on his arm. "I could force you to stay, of course, but I am going to ask instead. Not forever," he said with a sad smile, "but long enough so that you can go into the world safely."

"Edward said that I was almost ready to start being exposed to humans," I argued, hating the petulant tone of my own voice.

Carlisle ignored what I'd said, and continued on. "My priority is giving you a choice in lifestyle—not condemning you to senseless murder just to stay alive. The 'vegetarian' path isn't easy, but I can promise that it's worth the struggle."

Edward had told me that Carlisle was hundreds of years old. That he could be a medical doctor and expose himself to blood on a regular basis without fear that he would break his self-imposed restriction.

I felt myself slide again into the past, back to those halcyon days when I'd climbed one tree too many and Dr. Carlisle Cullen had had come to set my leg. I'd had a nasty cut from a sharp rock on my thigh and he'd dressed the deep and bloody wound without even a tremor of his pale, elegant fine-boned hands. I remembered thinking how calm and collected he was, in the face of my tear-stained panic. The pain had been considerable and he'd been soothing—like a tall glass of lemonade in the middle of a hot sultry afternoon.

"Will you promise to stay until you can be sure of your control?" Carlisle was pressing and I could see the apprehension seeping through the wall of polite disinterest that he cultivated around me.

I did not want to lie to him, but I also had no intention of staying here, enduring his unbearable company. It was necessary, I told myself, and I opened my mouth to agree, but I found that I could not. Carlisle must have seen the confused expression flash across my face, and he smiled again—that small, sad smile that tugged at my heart despite me rigorously steeling myself against it. There was no reason for me to feel sorry for him, I insisted. He was a foul brigand. He had betrayed me in the worst possible way. I hated him.

I looked up at him wordlessly and he said nothing in return. After what could have been seconds or minutes or hours, he finally stood up.

His eyes were fixed on me as he spoke. "Esme, we are at an impasse. I appreciate your honor in not wanting to lie, but I am determined to keep you here until I can execute my responsibility as your creator."

I still had the remnants of the newborn speed and I was on my feet so quickly that I caught a hint of surprise on his young, handsome face.

"My _creator_," I spat in that face. I hated how beautiful I thought he was. How beautiful I was. How charmed we appeared on the outside when in reality we were entirely forsaken and evil on the inside, no matter how we tried to retain the simple shroud of humanity. "I wish to God _every single day _that you had left me on that gurney. That you had allowed me that final choice."

I had never before thought that he felt sorry for his action. I'd always believed that he'd reveled in the beautiful creature that he'd brought into the world with his power. But as I stood there, the lava of my anger burning through my veins echoing burning venom, his knees crumpled and he collapsed on the ground, his arms encircling his head.

Vampires could not cry, of course. I had tried enough times, but all I had ever managed was a deep, heaving sob that left me unsatisfactorily dry-eyed. Carlisle's body was moving in that familiar way, and again I felt the tug of sympathy but I relentlessly pushed it aside. Whatever pain he now felt was retribution for all the anguish he had forced upon me.

And yet, I found that I could no longer hate him. With his regret so painfully evident, my essentially good nature betrayed me and I found myself at his side, my hand reaching hesitantly out to comfort him.

The second my fingers brushed the silky cotton of his shirt, he leapt backward in surprise. No doubt he had expected me to flee from him. I had every other time, after all. But I found that I could not this time—not with him experiencing such inner torment. I might be a vampire, but I was not a monster.

We stared at each for a moment and then Carlisle's eyes dropped back to the forest floor. "I have to apologize, Esme," he said with a voice so low that if I hadn't had such enhanced hearing I would have missed it entirely. "I did not think when you came to me. I should not have taken such precipitous action. I should have left you be. And now how can I live with myself?"

The last emotion I had expected the self-contained Dr. Cullen to feel was remorse, but it appeared that as awful as I felt about my own transformation, his feelings echoed my own.

"You'll live with yourself the same that I live with myself now. One day at a time."

His face lifted toward mine and every feature was ravaged with grief. "I took a precious thing from you, Esme. It cannot be forgiven."

I had wondered myself if there was any way I could ever forgive him. His words only emphasized the conclusion I had come to long ago. Even as he tried to tie me to him and Edward, I felt the pull to leave. I was not sure I could be happy anywhere, but I knew I could never be happy here. His action would always haunt me.

_He_ would always haunt me.

But I could not tell him that. Not when he was already suffering so acutely. I could not drive the knife in deeper.

"Edward has forgiven you," I said, forcing a note of hopefulness into my voice. "You have become like father and son."

"Edward would have died," he said bitterly. "Of a disease I could not cure."

"And how am I any different? I would have died too."

"But you chose death."

I could not argue with the finality of his words. "Perhaps that is true. But maybe, in time, I will come to agree with you that my life was worth saving. Perhaps one day I will be _glad _you saved me."

I knew this would never happen, but Carlisle didn't. To my relief, some of the anguish melted off his face and his back straightened, his spine returning to its familiar upright position.

"I appreciate the comforting words," he sighed, "but please do not lie. I know how you feel. Your anger has been a constant companion for the last six months and every second of it was deserved. Forgiveness is not an option and I accept that."

Carlisle sounded rather regretful and in that moment, I felt an echo of regret too. Under different circumstances, what would I have felt for this man? It was impossible to know.

"Then you accept me leaving?" I asked, appreciating for the first time that we were breaking through the veneer of antagonism and really speaking about what mattered.

"Regretfully, no. I cannot countenance it, Esme. As I said before, you are my responsibility. It cannot be avoided, however much I regret my actions and you dislike the outcome. But," he paused, "I would be willing to offer you a compromise."

I eyed him suspiciously. "A compromise?"

"A compromise. Or call it a truce."

I nodded, indicating that he should divulge the terms of the deal he was offering.

"Edward has been talking of freedoms that you desire. Being able to go out on your own. Visiting places closer to town. I would be willing to allow you to do these things if you would promise to stay until your hunger was controlled."

As compromises went, it was not perfect. I disliked that he was "willing to allow" me all the sort of natural rights that being a citizen of the United States afforded me and in return, I was supposed stay. But, though he did not seem to know it, he held all the cards. I was new to this life and though I would never have liked to admit it to him, his knowledge was comforting. And, I was more ready to admit, I would hate to leave Edward. We had become close in these last months.

"I agree," I said formally and extended my hand to shake on it. He clasped it in his and I had to bite back the gasp as I felt his warm, strong palm close around my hand, totally dwarfing it. A current of adrenaline surged through my system, and I looked up into his tawny eyes with surprise. I was not expecting to see a similar shock in his face, but he was clearly as astonished as I.

He dropped my hand after going through the brief shaking motion, and then he turned away, hiding his face and his emotions from me.

Edward emerged out of the trees not thirty seconds later. I'd suspected that he had allowed Carlisle to be the one to catch me as I ran, but now I was sure. I glared at Edward and but he grasped my arm and held it firmly.

"Esme, please. Forgive me," he begged and I hated the uncertainty in his eyes. I couldn't deny that he'd been placed in a difficult situation between Carlisle and I. He had only been trying to repair what he could. My annoyance melted a little and I gave him a small smile.

"It's fine, Edward. You did the right thing." I glanced to where Carlisle had been standing, but he had disappeared into the trees, no doubt looking for a meal before we headed back to the cabin. "It had to be done."

"I know. But you did not want to do it. So I forced you to."

I grimaced a little, not enjoying the privilege of having my thoughts plucked out of my head and read.

"I try to avoid it. Really, Esme, I do," Edward protested as we combed the woods, looking for a snack. I was becoming rather proud of the pale gold that my eyes were fading to, and I told myself that when they were completely altered, I would feel safe around humans. Or rather, the humans would be safe around me.

"I believe you." Edward had a difficult time of it, I knew, and he attempted as best as he could to stay out of our minds, but I was sure that picking up some thoughts was unavoidable.

"So are you and Carlisle better now?" He asked casually, sticking his hands in his pockets.

I glanced back at him. "I am not even going to answer that question," I told him, enjoying seeing his discomfort as he tried to pretend he hadn't simply read the thoughts we'd had while we'd argued.

"I'm trying to talk to you. Yes, I could just read your thoughts, but then we wouldn't have any conversations."

I supposed that he was right. "Fine. Yes. We're . . . tolerable, I suppose."

Edward was young and excitable and boyish and he could not hide these from his voice as he asked, "Does that mean you'll stay?"

I also wondered if that meant I would. Carlisle had not specified a timeframe in our truce, and I had not pushed him for one. With the wall between us broken down and his honest words of apology, I found that I no longer was desperate to escape. Perhaps I would stay for awhile, and give Edward the time he needed to grow up. After all, he missed his mother dearly.

"Yes," I said decisively. One second I was standing there and the next I found myself in a pair of impossibly strong arms, being hugged fiercely. I relaxed as I realized it was Edward, who surprised me all the time by how fast he was.

"I'm so glad you're staying," he said into my shoulder, his words nearly muffled into the fabric of my blouse and I murmured, "Me too."

I saw movement in the corner of my eye, and I glanced up to see Carlisle looking at the two of us embracing and there was a smile of such undeniable power on his face that I had to remind myself that we had just agreed not ten minutes ago that forgiveness was impossible.

Unattainable.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Thanks for everyone's reviews for the last chapter. Quite a few of you are excited this story is back and so am I--and really, I'm thrilled anyone is still reading :)**

**I know that at points this has seemed slow (and not just with the updates). But believe me when I tell you that there is going to be a lot of action, and we are getting to the last few chapters of build-up.**

**Thanks to Angel and Trinity and also to my mom, who is incredibly encouraging and endures my rambling, late-night phone calls better than anyone else!**

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CPOV

The morning after my agreement with Esme, I sat alone at the table in the disused kitchen, reading the morning newspaper and keeping half an eye out for the clouds that appeared to be rolling in. If they continued to mount at this pace, I would be able to go to work today without any of the precautions I had to take when it was bright outside. After all, nobody wanted their doctor to _sparkle. _

As I scanned the front page, I found myself wondering if anything in Esme's daily behavior would change now that we had come to an accord of sorts. Not being human and requiring sustenance prevented her from having to descend the same way normal people did in the morning. Esme could stay locked up in her room until she had to feed—and there was nothing even requiring her to go out the front door. She could have just as easily slid the window back and leaped outside. Of course, I was not sure this had occurred to her yet, or else she would never have made the pilgrimage downstairs at all previous to this.

I was eternally grateful to Edward for being able to get her to feed the first time. I couldn't deny that my worry had been unbearable each time I had hunted for her, bringing home a freshly-killed animal to lay at her door. Esme had not known, but they were my tribute to her. Gifts to assuage the guilt that mounted inside and choked me every single time I looked into her wide, still innocent eyes that were no longer the clear gray I remembered from her human life. Now she looked out at the world from eyes tinted the color of a bloody sunset.

It was an inhuman color, but somehow Esme managed to make it lovely. Of course, I thought to myself, everything about Esme was now lovely. That was the trick of the vampire—they were beautiful and graceful and irresistible to their human prey. But, I stubbornly argued with myself, Esme had been all of the above _before _her change. She had been so incredibly lovely and fresh and innocent on that sweltering summer afternoon. And as I'd stared at her, captivated by the lack of fear in her eyes, I'd let myself wonder for only the briefest of moments, what it would be like to be with someone like her for eternity. No, to be with _her _for eternity.

Now, I knew that this single thought had been the weight that had tipped the balance the fateful night Esme Platt had been brought into clinic, her body mangled and destroyed. I'd created her, changed her, because of that single thought.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, angered that I was unable to move past this. I did not need her forgiveness, and even if I did, I would be doomed to live without it because I knew well enough that she would never be able to. What I had done was totally and completely unforgivable and I would simply have to force myself to come to terms with that fact.

I heard her footstep on the stair before I could see her. Her footfalls were cautious and unsure, but she still continued, despite her uneasiness. I could not prevent the sudden surge of happiness that threatened to swallow me. It was only through hundreds of years of practice that I managed to keep the smile off my face when she appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, nervously twisting her hands in front of her, her eyes solemn.

"Esme, good morning," I said, forcing the joy out of my tone. If she but knew how thrilled I was to see her, she would run scared of this house and I would never see her again. Neither Edward or I were exceptionally good trackers, and I was sure that my own burdensome guilt would prevent me from trying to search her out. She deserved to try to find some semblance of happiness in her life, I insisted to the wayward part of myself that seemed fascinated with the smooth porcelain curve of her cheek. And with other curves, it added before I could muzzle the inappropriate thought. Thank god Edward had not been here to hear that particular tidbit. He would have been most displeased.

"Good morning." Esme's voice was quiet, modulated. Hesitant. I knew she wanted something, but I didn't want to force her to ask until she was ready. So I simply sat, pretending to read the article in the paper until she spoke again.

"I. . .I was wondering if it would be possible for me to borrow a book."

I had not been sure what kind of question or request I had been expecting, but this had been the furthest from my mind. In all my eagerness to provide for Esme's newly-turned vampire body, I had forgotten that her mind was most likely wasting away with boredom, shut up in her room with nothing for entertainment.

As if she was Edward and could read my mind, she answered my unspoken worry. "I have been borrowing some of Edward's, but he is not here, and in any case, I have read all of his."

I wanted to ask her if she would have come to see me if Edward was available as a resource, but I did not, mostly because I hated to hear her answer. Of course she would not seek me unless she was forced to. Boredom, I thought wryly, was a great equalizer.

"Naturally. I'd be happy to lend you anything. Even the boring medical texts. I have plenty of those," I said, attempting to be casual and jovial and not act like this was the earth and heart-shattering event it was.

"Medical texts?" A slight wrinkle furrowed her brow and I could see the hint of disgust twist her lips.

I rose from the chair and walked closer to her. Not close, but closer. I let myself believe that I was simply moving towards the stairs and my own bookshelves, but I knew I was using any excuse to be near to her.

To her credit, Esme held her ground. She didn't move a muscle as I brushed past her, near enough that the sleeve of my brown suit jacket brushed the bare skin of her arm. To her credit, she did not even flinch as she touched her murderer.

I, on the other hand, nearly gasped. To cover for my incredible gaucheness, I turned, her face only a breath or two away from mine, and I chuckled low. "I _am _a doctor, remember?"

She breathlessly laughed back, and I definitely heard a whisper of nervousness in her voice. She was trying to hide that being near me made her terrified. Hateful. Angry. I bowed to her superior control while I did everything I could to shatter my own into pieces.

"That's right," she said. "A doctor." To my surprise, her voice was respectful and there was no tinge of irony in her voice when she referred to my chosen profession. I was supposed to save lives. I had taken hers.

"The books are upstairs." I indicated the direction of the stairs with my hand. "Would you like me to bring you a selection or. . ." I let the question hang. I did not want to put her in the situation of having to enter my private domain. I did not want to run the risk of my own control. At this moment, I was close enough to smell the wildflowers in her hair, from the day before when she had lain in the meadow with Edward while I hunted. I was near enough that I could truly appreciate the smooth perfection of her skin, unmarred by anything even as rudimentary as pores.

"I can go upstairs." Her voice was barely above a whisper but I could hear an underlying tone of bravery in it. I had hoped for the way we interacted to change, but I had never expect Esme to make the kind of personal sacrifice that she was committing to.

I said nothing and moved away from her before I could make a mistake that I would spend the rest of my eternal life regretting. Just because she was able to tolerate my presence did not mean that all was forgiven. It did _not _mean that Esme would ever return the feelings for her that were slowly beginning to bloom inside me.

We reached the stairs and I motioned for Esme to go up first. I followed behind, resolutely closing my eyes. I might be the man who snatched her desired death from her grasp, but I was still a gentleman.

Esme paused at the top of the stairs, unsure which doorway in the hall was mine. I opened the door and waved her inside.

I heard her gasp before I could even walk inside. She was standing in the middle of the spacious room, gazing up at the west-facing wall, which was covered from floor to ceiling in hundreds of leather-bound books.

"So many," she murmured, her voice so quiet that even with my enhanced senses, I could barely hear it.

"You're pleased then?" I asked, unable to totally expunge the hope out of my voice.

Esme nodded wordlessly, her hand reaching out to brush the gold embossed spines. I moved behind her, ruthlessly forcing myself to stay at least four feet away, and gestured towards a section to her right.

"Fiction is organized alphabetically, by author's last name," I explained.

She turned abruptly toward me, and even the regimented four feet I allowed myself were not enough to stop the beautifully terrifying sight of her incredible face from crashing into my consciousness.

"I'd like to learn a language," she said. "French, actually."

It was a day for surprises. In reality, I had never expected Esme to venture out of her room so close to our agreement. I had never expected her to be able to stomach being in my private room, and of all the books I had expected her to request, a book on the French language was the last on the list. I had expected her to ask for Jane Austen, or Charlotte Bronte or perhaps one of the more modern bestsellers. A collection of D.H. Lawrence stories, perhaps. But French? I barely managed to reel in my disbelief before it became evident to Esme.

"I have some books _in _French," I explained. "And I believe a dictionary and perhaps something on grammar," I said, moving towards the bookcases, trying to remember if I had decided to pack them on my latest move, or if I had simply left them behind. Edward had gone through a period where he'd been eager to learn as many languages as he could, and French had been one of the first he'd tried and eventually mastered.

I located the dictionary and plucked it out of the shelf and held it out to Esme. "I should have the grammar, then," I explained. "I just need to locate it."

Spotting it, I handed the second, much thicker book to Esme. As she took it from me, my hand accidentally brushed hers, and we both jerked backwards. The book cluttered the floor, and flustered, I bent to pick it up.

"I apologize," I said stiffly, wondering what it was about Esme that made me so stiff and uncomfortable. I had spent three hundred years perfecting my manners, but with her, I always felt rude and churlish. And always, without fail, horribly awkward.

She took the book without a word, not even acknowledging my apology, and I decided that since it was likely that we'd already had more interaction today than the last six months together, I was fine with that.

"If I find any other French resources, I will let you know," I told her, hoping she would understand that I was dismissing her, but she just nodded, and instead of turning to go, she remained in the center of the room, looking everywhere but at me.

"Esme?" I asked, wondering what was keeping her in my company when typically she bolted whenever she had gotten what she wanted.

"Something else," she said softly. "Your room is so nice. The furniture is... beautiful." She gestured around to the Chippendale furniture that I insisted on shipping with me every time I moved. I might choose to live in more rural locales, but that didn't mean I had to live without culture and beauty.

"It's Chippendale," I told her, suddenly acutely aware that her own furnishings might leave something to be desired. I'd barely furnished that room when Edward and I had moved here a year ago, not realizing at the time that I would ever need to use it. The only reason it had furniture at all was my own paranoia that appearances might not be up to a human standard.

"I was wondering if perhaps I could. . .change some of the décor in my room." She asked as if she was sure I would say no, and I wondered if she would ever come to see me as anything other than the monster she was convinced I was. I had only treated with her respect and consideration since her change, but it seemed that I would be forever defined in her mind by that single action.

"Of course," I said with a forced smile. "I'll be happy to bring some samples from the store in town. We'll just have to be a bit more. . .discreet. I'll simply inform them it's for my sickly cousin, confined to her bedroom."

"Thank you. I appreciate it." She turned to go, closing the door behind her, but the tension didn't leave my shoulders even after she was gone. Her presence was always difficult and made me want things that I had no business wanting—and that I hadn't in years. Not since Pia.

It was proof positive of how difficult I found my interactions with Esme that I even allowed myself to think Pia's name. I had not even thought of her weeks. Months. Maybe even years.

Since I had already broken down and let Pia into my consciousness, I wondered why it was that I was able to shut out her existence, but I could not contain Esme nearly so completely.

In fact, I could not contain Esme at all. She had usurped, time and time again, the mental constraints I had put on the subject of her. Pia had never caused me such trouble, even in the beginning.

The knock on the door was expected. I opened it, and Edward walked in. He did not prevaricate, as usual. "Who is Pia?" he asked and I tried very hard to restrain the thought of how much I disliked having a son who could read minds.

"It's frustrating, I know," Edward said and he sounded not the least bit disturbed. He was used to this particular line of thinking by now. "You don't have to tell me, of course. But now I'm curious."

I gestured towards a chair and I settled down on the one opposite. "I met Pia when I spent time with the Volturi. She was incredibly beautiful, capricious, and could not find it in her rather changeable heart to forgive me for not deciding to adhere to the way of most vampires."

"She wanted you to drink human blood," Edward clarified.

"She did," I agreed. "And she could not understand why I wouldn't sacrifice such a 'small issue' to her beauty. When I left Italy, I left her. I have no doubt that she _still _has not forgiven me. Pia is a woman who feels emotion strongly."

"Were you in love with her?" During our many conversations of the last year, I had learned that love was an emotion that Edward particularly struggled to understand. Most other emotions had their basis in logical thought functions. Love, however, was an entirely different story, and according to Edward, very often people loved for very little reason at all.

"Yes. No. I . . ." I wasn't sure what to say. I had been sure at the time that I _had _been in love with Pia, and she in love with me. However, time had forced me to see that while I had found her beautiful and interesting, I had shared no real, true, soul-deep love with Pia.

"She is incredibly lovely," Edward. "In your mind, at least."

"She is indeed. But it was not meant to be."

"Considering your relationship with her, I find it difficult to believe that the first time you have thought of her was today."

I shrugged. "I haven't seen her in a hundred years. I am not in love with her. Her memory is mostly a nice one, but not one that I choose to think on frequently."

Edward frowned and appeared deep in thought. "Esme hated her husband and she thinks about him often."

This surprised me. I had not been aware that Esme's husband was still alive. I had believed her a widow. After all, she had been living without him and her ring hand had been bare the first time I'd seen her.

"Yes, he's alive." Edward's voice was quiet and low and suddenly deadly. Instantly I knew that he had heard something in her thoughts that he had been keeping from me.

"I will tell you he was not a nice man. Not at all." Edward bared his teeth and morphed suddenly into the predator that he truly was.

"You are not thinking of. . ." I spluttered. I did not want Edward running off to find Mr. Evenson and exacting vigilante justice, regardless of what he had done to Esme. "She is safe now, Edward," I insisted. "He cannot hurt her anymore."

"I know. But her thoughts... though those _are _fading," he amended.

"You are sure they are fading?"

"She was afraid of you in here, but she was not exactly sure why. So yes. They are fading."

This was surprising and not exactly pleasant news. "Esme was _frightened _of me?"

He nodded. "When your hand touched hers, she remembered the feelings he had evoked in her, but not the actual actions. It's likely because you're a man—not because she's actually afraid _of _you."

Regardless of Edward's pronouncement that Esme was not technically afraid of me, I could not shake my shock. "You should be thankful," he continued, "that she can no longer remember the details." He shuddered, briefly, and I wondered if he would ever choose to share what he knew with me. While Edward could not exact justice... I could. . .

"No," Edward said firmly. "I will not share. Ever. Esme's thoughts are between Esme and I. If you want to know, you will ask her yourself."

I was proud of the firm stand Edward had taken. He was as upright and moral a son that a father could hope to have. However, I felt a significant amount of frustration because I could definitely not ask Esme and risk the memories returning. "It is better his way," Edward said. "Let them fade."

Someday, I thought ruefully, Esme would wish she could remember her human memories. Someday, she would be upset with me and Edward for not helping her keep them alive. Someday, I would have to explain.

But someday was not today and Edward spoke the truth. It would be better for her memories to fade. "Yes," I told Edward firmly, "we're Esme's family now. We'll make new memories to replace the ones she has lost."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Thanks for everyone's great reviews on chapter 8! A lot of you are really glad that I'm going to be updating a lot more frequently--and I still am. . .just not weekly. I'm sorry, I honestly tried. I really, really _really _did, but it is just too much. If I updated Eve weekly, Volterra Rocks and Growing Pains would never get updated. So I am going to be updated Eve every other week--still on Tuesday or Wednesday.**

**A couple of small things. . .everyone has been really great about not being too nitpicky about canon. . .and like I said, this is probably going to depart just a tiny bit. So whatever makes you comfortable to call it, go ahead. I consider it canon with just a smattering of AU.  
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**Thanks to my beta Trinity. And guilty, sullen Carlisle and pissed off Esme belong to SMeyer.**

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**Esme**

I could not understand why I had gone to Carlisle for a book. There were plenty of books in Edward's bookshelf that I had yet to even touch. The decision to go downstairs had been made nearly spontaneously, and I had not even considering _why _I was going downstairs. I had simply known that I could not bear to see the same four walls for an hour longer. Then, I had seen him, sitting at the table in that useless kitchen, reading the newspaper just like he was a normal man and this was a normal day, and something inside me had snapped.

Or vanished. Even now, I was not sure. But something was unalterably different.

_I _was different.

I had continued by doing the unthinkable. I had not only talked to him out of personal choice, but I had asked for a personal favor. Then, if these were not bad enough, I had agreed to walk into his bedroom, where I had proceeded to ask for _another _favor.

We had carried on a conversation like civilized, friendly adults. As I sat in my room, fingering the leather bindings of the books he had lent me, my actions still baffled me. Even more baffling was the sudden, choking fear I'd experienced when our hands had brushed. The fear was different than anything I had known in the last six months. It was not motivated by my hatred of Carlisle, but seemed instead a remnant of some other memory—a memory that was now partially obscured by the passage of time and the venom infusing my body.

Edward had mentioned once that recollections of my human life would fade with time. I had not expected them to fade so quickly, and now, even with concentrated effort, I could not remember why I had been so utterly terrified to have a male hand brushing my own.

I wanted to believe that it was my own personal dislike of Carlisle that had caused the fear, but I knew better. I had experienced an amorphous, shadowy, irrational surge of terror. Something awful had happened to me in the past. I did not know what it was anymore, but the feelings remained.

Even though I was sure that the memories weren't precisely pleasant ones, I did not want to lose them. I knew that Edward had had unbidden glimpses into my thoughts when I still remembered what my human life had been like. I would ask him for details so I could fill in the blanks my past held. Even if what I learned was horrifying, it would be better than losing my humanity altogether.

My attention was drawn back to the books sitting on the bedside table in front of me. They were handsomely bound with elegant gold leaf embossing on the spines. I had never been able to purchase books such as these, but Carlisle had handled them as if they meant nothing. I knew as a doctor that he would likely make a good living, but then I remembered the beautiful furniture in his room and his promise that I would be able to pick whatever I wished for my own room. I remembered the clothes Edward had brought me—all beautifully made from fine fabrics with elegant detailing—and the silver backed mirror and brush that sat on the dresser in the corner.

It had been many years since I had not had to worry about money and budgets and making sure that food stretched and clothes were worn until they were falling apart. In Dr. Carlisle Cullen's house, there was no such scrimping. Everything was simple, but clearly the best that money could buy. I supposed that he would have had the opportunity to accumulate some wealth over the hundreds of years he had been alive and I felt a momentary twinge of guilt for letting myself so freely take advantage of his situation. It was proper, I knew, for a husband to take care of a wife, but I was neither Carlisle's wife or his daughter. I was... suddenly I was not sure what I was. The irrational fear from earlier swamped me, and I gripped the edge of the table as hard as I dared.

Surely, he would not _dare_ to take any... liberties, in payment for the items he purchased for me. Edward would never permit it, I insisted to myself, trying to calm down.

Before I could continue to wonder what kind of "payment" Carlisle would expect for all the lovely things he had bought me, I heard steps on the stair, and smelled Edward's distinct scent before he could even open the door.

"Esme," he exclaimed excitedly, throwing the door open so roughly that it bounced hard against the wall and left a rather large dent. He did not even notice the damage, but instead came bounding into the room, looking so much like an eager seventeen year old boy. I felt a twinge of sadness. He deserved to be able to talk to boys his own age. Instead, he was stuck here in this house, with a 300 year old doctor and me, who had likely not been much fun to be around here.

I smiled up at him, determined that he should be able to enjoy whatever it was that had him so excited.

"There's going to be a thunderstorm!"

A tiny pucker of a frown appeared on my forehead. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow, Edward."

"A thunderstorm," he repeated patiently. "We've been waiting for a thunderstorm so we can play baseball."

Oh yes. Baseball. I plastered an enthusiastic smile on my face and tried to think happy thoughts about baseball. There was a short list to pick from. I was afraid that in reality, I knew very little about sports. They were not precisely a pastime that most women were encouraged to enjoy.

"But you have to play," Edward protested, clearly hearing my thoughts. "We'll have so much fun."

Fun. The very idea of having "fun" again was nearly intoxicating. I could not remember any since my change and I could not recall any before it either. Whatever I remembered was tinged with depression and an unendurable sorrow.

"I promise. You'll enjoy it, Esme." Carlisle's deep voice spoke up from the doorway, and I looked up, surprised that I hadn't smelled his arrival. I supposed that I had been too absorbed in contemplating baseball to sense his entrance.

Then he walked into my bedroom as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be there. Yes, I had ventured into his personal sanctuary today, but I had been invited and that did not mean that he could have the same rights. Strangely, however, I was not as disturbed as I should have been. There was only a shadow of my earlier fear, and also some silly notion, probably inherited from my prudish mother, that an unmarried gentleman should not be in an unmarried lady's bedroom.

"Of course I'll join you," I said with a smile, unable to bear the possibility of Edward's disappointment.

"You should change," Edward said, motioning to Carlisle that they should exit the room.

"Change?"

"Clothes, silly Esme," Edward laughed. "I bought you a pair of pants for this purpose."

I had indeed noticed a pair of pants in the clothes he had brought me after my change, but I had since forgotten their existence. I'd only been wearing the skirts and blouses and dresses that Edward had brought, though why I was not sure. It was not as if anyone in this house cared what I looked like, or that I even left my room enough for them to notice.

"Of course," I said, a little stiffly. Pants were a novelty to me and I had only worn them a handful of times. I was not even sure if they were appropriate.

Carlisle and Edward exited the room, closing the door softly behind them. I went to the bottom drawer of the dresser and pulled them out. They were dark navy cotton, and looked like the right size.

I put them on, and looked in the mirror, marveling at how suddenly free I felt. However, I was definitely a bit dismayed by the reflection staring back at me. The straight pants were made for a man, and my curving hips made them... tighter than I would have liked. I debated with myself for five minutes, before finally deciding that it mattered very little. Nobody except for Carlisle and Edward would be seeing me and I could not play baseball in a skirt.

I walked down the stairs, trying to tamp down my subconscious itch to run back upstairs to the safety of my nice neat skirts. It was hard to not feel indecent, with every line of my legs outlined so clearly.

Edward barely glanced at me, he was so eager to leave. Carlisle, however, was a different story. My apprehension grew as I saw the way he was staring at my legs. I desperately wanted to go back upstairs and put something else on—something where I did not feel nearly so exposed to his eyes.

"You look lovely, Esme," Carlisle said, and the compliment was both polite and appropriate. I could not fault his gentlemanly behavior, even in this situation. I inclined my head, accepting his kind words, but not sure what to say in response. I had been told I was pretty only a handful of times. Of course, now that I was a vampire, I was beautiful, but this was the first time I was acutely aware of how lovely Carlisle thought I was. His regard was evident as we exited the house, and I told myself insistently that it meant nothing. He knew how I felt. His regard was simply an extension of his general appreciation for beautiful things—and nothing more.

We ran to the clearing, and I enjoyed tremendously the new freedom that the pants provided. I no longer had to worry about my skirts riding up and I could take much longer strides. More than once I felt a unbidden smile rising inside me and I kept it off my face only because I did not want Carlisle to misunderstand my feelings about him.

It was not until we reached the open grassy space that I noticed that Edward was carrying a large canvas bag. He opened it and pulled out several large flat sacks filled with sand, a handful of baseballs and two wooden bats. I eyed all this dubiously, as Edward picked up the flat bases and began distributing them through the field.

I had never seen such a smile on Edward's face, and I reminded myself that this was why I had agreed to participate at all. A young boy deserved to be able to have a good time.

"You'll be fine, Esme," Carlisle spoke up from behind me. I glanced back and saw that he was watching me intently. "When I first met you, you were certainly athletic."

This was the one memory from my human past that I could still remember perfectly. I was not sure if it was because it involved another vampire or if it was simply because I had strong feelings regarding Carlisle, but every minuscule detail of it remained fresh in my mind.

Clearly, it was still crystal in his memory as well.

"I'd fallen out of a tree."

"You were sixteen—awfully old to be climbing trees," he noted with a chuckle. "Baseball should be easy in comparison. Besides, you're much faster and stronger now."

That was indeed true—I could now run circles around my past self. And he had been right about my athletic ability as a child, but after a certain age, mother had stopped allowing me to run wild outside**.** Instead, I'd been confined to the house to learn to cook and sew and make polite conversation.

"He looks so happy," Carlisle said wistfully, as Edward raced around the meadow, setting up the field for play.

"He does," I agreed. "He has such a burden to bear at such a young age**, **and he does it more gracefully than I." I spoke without thinking, without realizing that such a statement might bring Carlisle guilt. After all, he was the direct reason why Edward had any burdens at all.

But Carlisle's expression remained unchanged. "He does indeed bear it well. He is a strong-willed boy, and will grow into a kind, generous man."

"I find it odd that you use the term 'grow'**,** as Edward will never age physically from this day forward," I observed.

"I was young when I was changed," Carlisle explained wryly. "A young man of 23. Despite that I've not grown physically, there was much necessary emotional growth to become who I am today."

Before I could respond, Edward returned, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"So Edward, how are we to play the game with only three?" Carlisle asked jovially.

Edward smiled, clearly having anticipated such a question. "Obviously we cannot have teams. So I thought one person to hit the ball, one to play outfield and another to pitch."

"Excellent plan, son," Carlisle said decisively, and Edward beamed.

I felt a twinge of apprehension. I had never played baseball. Surely, I would be terrible, even with my new vampiric strength and speed. I opened my mouth to excuse myself, but Carlisle spoke first.

"Esme, would you feel more comfortable just pitching the ball, and Edward and I can switch off between outfield and batting?"

As I walked towards the newly-constructed pitchers' mound, I thought of Carlisle and how considerate he could be. I couldn't believe that I had never noticed how he always thought of my feelings—even when I was rude bordering on vicious.

Always, I suddenly recollected, except the one time when it had mattered most.

* * *

After the game began, I realized three important truths.

First, I was extremely grateful that Carlisle had recommended the pants. Even though I was only the pitcher, I had begun to help Carlisle in the outfield. Edward had protested strongly, but with such a smile on his face, he obviously had not cared one way or the other. I didn't need to worry about my legs being exposed and I felt much freer to run and jump. Not once, not even during any of our hunting trips, had I been able to truly experiment and examine the boundaries of my power.

Second, the thunderstorm was vitally important. The crack of the ball against the bat was incredibly loud to us, and I was sure that without the cover of the thunder, it would have been incredibly suspicious to any of the humans in the area.

And lastly, I realized that it had been far, far too long since I'd smiled. The first pitch I'd thrown had been so much harder than I'd intended and so incredibly wild in direction that Edward had just watched with open-mouthed astonishment as it sailed past his head. It was his incredulous expression that had done it. I hadn't been able to stop the smile that had broken across my face and now, a good hour later, it remained permanently affixed to my lips.

I had even smiled at _Carlisle_.

He had noticed, of course, and smiled back. His teeth were so strong and white and even and almost _dazzling _in his pale face that I realized that I had not seen him smile either—at least not since I had arrived six months earlier.

Edward had wanted to keep score, but in the end, it turned out to be impossible, and we just played for the fun of being able to "stretch our muscles," as Carlisle put it.

Much too soon, the thunderstorm cleared and our game came to an end. I found myself mourning the freedom of our time in the meadow almost the moment it was over. I had found happiness, if only for a few hours, and I was afraid as I watched Edward and Carlisle pack away the equipment that the veil of depression would simply drop again the moment we returned to the house.

So I held back as we left the meadow, purposefully not running at my full capacity. I wished that I could still use the excuse that I was tired, but my legs were still as strong and fresh as they'd been when we'd left the house.

Edward and Carlisle both slowed to match my pace, and ever the gentlemen, didn't ask me for why I had chosen to move slower than usual. I suppose Edward knew, but he said nothing and Carlisle appeared lost in thought.

It was only when the house came into view that I remembered what I had wanted to speak to Edward about earlier. I deliberately and clearly thought that I wanted to speak to him in private and he inclined his head towards me, indicating he'd heard me.

Carlisle entered the house, and we stayed outside, slowing to a leisurely walk as we moved back away from the house, Edward following my lead.

"What is it, Esme?" Edward asked, a hint of concern in his voice. I supposed that the deliberate summons followed by the steps I'd taken to make sure Carlisle didn't hear were enough reasons to worry him. I remembered how much enjoyment he'd had playing the baseball game, and I wondered if perhaps I should have timed my questions differently. The boy deserved to have some happy days without the constant threat of gloom.

"Esme," Edward gently touched my arm, directing me away from my morose thoughts and towards him. "It's perfectly fine. Please tell me what's on your mind."

"I saw Carlisle earlier today. . ." I began, not sure how to phrase my request, "and the oddest thing happened. He handed me a book and our hands brushed. Just the slightest bit."

I paused. I could not even explain my feelings to myself; how could I ever hope to explain the amorphous fear to Edward?

He indicated a grassy boulder and we sat, though he said nothing. I knew he was hearing my thoughts though, and perhaps that was the best way for me to explain to him how I'd felt—for him to experience it firsthand.

Finally he spoke. "I know what you want to ask, and I have to tell you, I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Can't what?"

"I can't. I wish I could."

"But?" I asked, a sharp edge to my voice. Edward had been blessed with an incredible gift that allowed him to see into other's versions of the past, and yet he would not use it? I could not understand why he would reject such a use of his gift.

"When I woke up from my change, Carlisle and I figured out fairly quickly what my special 'gift' was. We have had many conversations over the course of the last two years of what such a power entails. Of the responsibilities that I have to myself and to others. I made myself a promise, a vow, Esme, that I wouldn't divulge information that isn't meant to be known."

"But they're _my _memories," I pleaded with him, searching his face for signs of his resolve weakening, but he appeared only sympathetic but resolute.

"And your body and your mind forgot them. Perhaps they were better forgotten. It's not my place to resurrect them."

Numbness and misery spread through me. Edward had made his decision. Soon, all my memories would fade and I would cease to be Esme Platt—I would only be Esme _Cullen_. I was terrified of what that meant. Esme Platt was worn and familiar and easy. Esme Cullen was a beautiful, glamorous, stranger who looked back in the silver mirror with heartbroken eyes.

But heartbroken from what? I resolved that even if Edward would not tell me, I would find out, somehow. I was determined not to have my past—my _humanity—_snatched from me yet again.

I turned to walk away, unable to hide the despair etching my face. I felt like I had just woken up again from my change all over again and everything was new and unfamiliar and horrific. How had I not noticed that my memories of my past were fading? I berated myself, hopelessly angry that I had allowed this to happen.

"Esme, wait," Edward called out and I looked up and saw him walking towards me.

"What _do _you remember?" he asked and shame washed through me.

_Nothing. I remember nothing. Only feelings. Emotions. Brief, incomplete glimpses._

All the joy in Edward's face from earlier today had faded and this news brought a deep sadness to those amber-colored eyes.

There was a long silence as we stared at each other, and in my mind I begged, pleaded, groveled for some memory back. Just a single memory. That was all I wanted.

Finally he spoke. "Esme, you had a son."

* * *

**AN: I know, I know. I'm an evil woman. It had to be done, though, sorry!**

**FYI, I am going to be the guest blogger on Saturday, July 4th on The Lazy Yet Discerning Ficster blog, talking about secondary canon couples and reccing a lot of great stories I've discovered. Since y'all are already reading an Esme/Carlisle story and don't have to be forcibly dragged away from the ExB, check it out!**

**Also, it's my birthday next Tuesday (the 8th). So leave me a lot of bday love bbs!  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Thanks for everyone's great reviews on ch 9! I wish I could respond to all of them, but I just don't have the time. If you have a specific question and/or issue, please feel free to PM me, and I do try to respond to those. For anyone who is interested in reading my secondary Cullen blog article, I have a link on my profile.  
**

**Thanks to Trinity, who is a fantastic beta, and to Rach, who nominated Eve for an Indie!**

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**Esme**

In the moment after Edward's revelation, I found that I missed the steady, comfortable thrumming of my heart. As a human, you could count on the beat of your heart to steady you, to belie you in times such as these. A regular beating heart, stopped so easy, so effortlessly, was something that I found I missed. Not just the attached humanity, but the actual lulling sound. If I had been human at this very second, I would have tried to push past the massive lump in my throat by simply counting my heart's beats. But I couldn't because while my heart still existed inside my chest, it had been stilled forever.

I waited, knowing that the thought of my stilled heart would bring a sudden crashing hatred of Dr. Carlisle Cullen, my creator. And even though I felt agony and anguish at the memories that Edward's words had resurrected, there was no anger.

Instead, I felt merely resigned and I stood, absolutely still, as the memories unearthed by Edward's words crashed over me.

Edward watched me, waiting I was sure, for the moment when I'd lose control. He was waiting for the second his revelation hit home and I knew why I had thrown my human life away like it was paltry and meaningless.

Looking back with much more objectivity than I'd ever thought possible, I could now see why I'd felt the emptiness of my existence. The desolation I'd felt following my son's death had been acute and I had been so incredibly sure that I would never experience love again. Riding a high of decisiveness, I'd thrown myself off the cliff without any idea of what I was throwing away.

In a way, this life I'd been forced into by Carlisle's action was a form of retribution for my belief that my existence had held no worth.

The intensity of my grief for my son dulled, I now understood that I could have picked myself up and life could have been good again. And now there would never be an opportunity to do so.

I looked at Edward, who still watched me with wary eyes. "It's fine," I said to him with resignation, "I knew it had been something horrible. But it helps to know."

Edward looked rather dubious at this admission and I gave him a tiny rueful smile. "Perhaps nothing 'helps,' but I appreciate you telling me. It couldn't have been an easy decision."

His tense facial features relaxed, and just before he took the step forward towards me, I felt that sudden bizarre rush of fear, but this time I understood it.

My husband had not been a very nice man. I had left him, finally, when I'd found myself pregnant because I hadn't been able to bear the thought of exposing a child of mine to his murderous rages.

Edward hesitated right before his arms clasped around me. I desperately wanted Edward's comfort but I couldn't help the fear. It was ingrained in me, as much a part of me as my hair or my eyes or my skin. No doubt hearing the warring emotions in my head, Edward dropped his arms and stepped backwards, his eyes never leaving mine.

I had spent years hating my husband, but I had never hated him more than in this moment. This sweet boy wanted to give me comforting love and reassurance, and because of _him _I was unable to accept.

"Esme," a deeper voice said, and I turned, surprised to see Carlisle walking into the clearing, a look of relief on his face. It was then I knew that he had not gone far. He had stayed, out of sight, to make sure that my conversation with Edward went well. To support Edward, I supposed, as he resisted giving me the information on my history.

I stepped away from Edward and turned towards Carlisle's approaching form. "Don't be angry at him," I pleaded, worried that Carlisle had charged Edward with not telling me any of my missing memories, but he just looked at me thoughtfully, his closed expression preventing me from understanding what he was thinking.

"You're not angry, then?" I ventured again, when he stayed silent.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. "I suggested to Edward that we not tell you what you were missing, Esme, but it was Edward's decision, ultimately. I trusted him to make the right choice, and he has. I was wrong to ask him not to tell, and I apologize."

Of everything I was expecting from Carlisle, an apology was not even near the top of the list. "I understand," I said, not until that moment realizing that I _did _understand. I'd been suffering acutely before my death, and I had struggled with coming to terms with the vampire I had become. Carlisle and Edward had wished to spare me more of the same. They had acted with my best interests at heart.

In that moment, I was struck the realization that I had thrown my life away because of the certainty I'd felt that love was forever out of reach. But as I glanced from Edward to Carlisle, I knew that I had found it again. I had lost one family, only to gain another.

"Of course we love you, Esme," Edward said, kindly. "We want you to stay with us."

I tried to pretend that Carlisle was not standing there, silent as a tomb. Just a few days ago, he had been desperate to me to remain with him and Edward. Had he changed his mind?

**Carlisle**

It had been very easy to guess what Esme was so desperate to talk to Edward about, and I had waited out of sight, ready for any possible outcome. I was even prepared to stop her by force if need be. But what had transpired instead had shocked me to my core.

Esme was not angry. She was sad, still, at the loss of her son, and I knew that it would likely be a sorrow she carried with her forever, but she was not hateful or upset. I had seen Edward's embrace and how he had been forced to step away, and instead of Esme, it was me who felt the sudden surge of irrational anger seeping through me.

I had ordered Edward to stay away from her husband, but I was beginning to wonder I would have the same self-control to do so myself. Edward was, for all intents and purposes, Esme's son, and for her to have to turn him away from a comforting embrace because she was too afraid to let him touch her was abhorrent to me.

I struggled with the knowledge that I would have to kill him as Edward told Esme how much he would like her to stay with us, and it was only until her eyes shifted to me that I realized she was waiting for me to echo Edward's sentiments.

It was impossible for me to understand how Esme could not know how I felt about her. She was an angel—avenging at some points, perhaps, but her anger was justified, and I knew with an unshakeable belief, that Esme was truly one the kindest, truest creatures I had ever met in my long life. I would do anything to make her mine, though I had long accepted that she would never feel similarly about me. I would love nothing more than to keep her with me for eternity, even as just a friend and companion.

And so I told her, because with Esme, nothing but honesty could exist in the face of those unflinching, glowing amber eyes. Her beauty was absolute, but it was the soul shining through the exquisiteness lines of her face that I most loved. "Esme, it would be an honor for you to stay with me and Edward and become a Cullen."

Her answering smile was warm and she reached toward me with one arm, her fingers outstretched toward me, and I gave her a questioning look. She knew she could not touch me without fear. What was the dear girl trying to do?

But instead of pulling back, she smiled again, more encouragingly, and said, "Please. I want to try."

"You will learn to move past the fear, I promise, Esme. I swear that Edward and I will work with you until it is merely a shadow."

"Until it is gone," she corrected me sadly. "I don't ever want to feel it again."

I would do anything to take away the sadness in her voice, but I knew it was impossible, even for someone as strong and fast as a vampire. I could only do what I could to avenge her husband's actions.

"Please," she said again, stronger this time. "Please. I hate this weakness inside me."

Of course I was helpless in the face of her determination. Slowly, I reached my hand towards hers, and the tips of our fingers brushed. Esme's face was a study in concentration as she let her fingers intermingle with mine until finally, she pulled away. I tried to stem my disappointment. Touching Esme was everything I had ever wondered it would be, but I had to remind myself that she might be a friend, and only that. It was my responsibility to keep my feelings for her in check so that we could conquer her fear together.

I spent the next several days buried in my study, absorbed in the two tasks that I associated with Esme. First, the antique shops I had frequented in the past had begun to send in sketches and descriptions of available furnishings they had for purchase. I was compiling a list for Esme so she could select what she liked best. Now that she had finally agreed to stay and be part of my family, I wanted her to feel at home and comfortable in her living quarters.

The second task was much more delicate. I had a private investigator on retainer, and I had asked him to make inquiries about Esme's husband.

My man had found the husband still very much alive and living with another young woman, who was masquerading as his new wife. As far as I could tell, he had not been informed of Esme's death and so could not properly offer marriage to his new paramour.

Not that he would, I thought with disgust. Charles Evenson was more of a monster than I could ever be, and his heart was still beating strong and true in his chest. In reality, I found it horribly unfair that such a man could have a soul, and I could not. I was by no means a saint, but Esme's husband was truly evil and had no obvious qualms about his behavior.

I'd had to be extremely careful in my thoughts while Edward was around so that he would be unaware of the action I had decided to take. Edward would insist on accompanying me and he was still a newborn and too young for this particular task. He had excellent self-control, but he could still not be trusted. I would have to go alone.

I suggested to him that he take Esme hunting and they had assented readily, though I had a feeling Edward understood that I did not want him to be around when I made my final preparations to leave.

Glancing one last time at the information in the letter my investigator had sent, I committed it to my memory, and went to change. I dressed simply and much more casually than I normally did, in worn black pants and a simple black shirt, pulling a black cap over my blond hair.

A quick look in the mirror to confirm that I looked unobtrusive and would simply fade into the shadows, and I was gone, out the window in one single smooth leap.

Dusk was just falling as I ran swiftly and silently towards the state border. The investigator had learned that the man had moved to a community just outside Chicago after Esme left him, and I was determined to make it there before dawn.

I avoided all human contact by keeping off the roads and reached the outskirts of the town by just before 2AM. Instead of feeling exhausted, I felt exhilarated instead, and like I had just reconnected with the more primal, basic need of my true self. I'd spent years driving, trying to domesticate myself into a regular human. The only time I ever ran anymore was when I hunted, and I had not realized how much I missed the simple act of 'stretching my legs.'

I prowled down the empty, dark streets, looking for the correct one. It was not until I had found Oak Street and had located the house, that the significance of the act I was about to commit struck me. I had spent the last few days in a fever of activity, focusing only on deriving the information I would need, and the run here focusing only on avoiding every human I could smell. And now, as I stood outside Charles Evenson's tiny yellow house, the reality of the situation crushed me.

I was about to take a human life. I had never done so, in all my years as a vampire. I had done everything I could to assiduously avoid it, including denying my thirst until I was nearly mad during those first few hellish months after my change.

Silently, I leaned against the side of the house and tried to reason with myself. Surely such an action was not totally necessary? Surely the man could continue to exist. I did not need to throw away hundreds of years of restraint in a bid to redeem my soul just to kill one man.

The venom thrummed just under my rock hard skin, and there was no denying the urge and the _need _I had to terminate this man's life. This was more than blood lust. This was more than a vampiric urge to feed.

This was something I had to do for Esme, even if I could never tell her. To my own surprise, I found that my decision to kill Charles Evenson was more than just karmic vengeance—it was a driving absolute need to eradicate everything on this earth that had ever dared harm Esme _Cullen_.

_Esme Cullen._

The caveman inside of me gloated that she was mine now, even in name, and that the rush of possession that I was glorying in. The need to defend her fulfilled.

But I knew it was more than that. It was infinitely more. I was in love with her.

The final puzzle piece fell into place and I stood up, my decision made.

Thanks to my information, I knew that Charles Evenson's lady love would be away this week, staying with her sister for the birth of her niece, and he would be alone in bed. I pried the window open silently and saw him lying on the bed alone, snoring. He was a great brute of a man, and even with the peace of sleep on his face, there was a sadistic twist to his lips that made me nearly shudder with loathing.

I landed on the floor of the bedroom with a small thud, and I cursed inwardly. I was inexperienced at this, and obviously not as stealthy as I needed to be. But Charles slept on, patently unaware that his worst nightmare had decided to come visit.

I walked over to the bed, and stood there, next to him, for a brief second. In that moment, I prayed for God's forgiveness for what I was about to do, and for Esme's as well. Her nature could understand hate but not murder.

His blood smelled like rusty nails, and even if I had not been so accustomed to the smell, I never would have been even the slightest bit tempted to drink from him. A person's evil did not live in their anatomy, but I wanted nothing to do with Charles Evenson after tonight. The idea of having a part of him inside me was abhorrent.

He deserved less, but I had resolved to do the act quickly, and without pain. The murder was enough; I did not need torture to be added to my conscience. So I leaned down, trying not to recoil at the fetid smell of his breath, and I placed my hands on his neck. I hated the idea of touching him, but I could not prevent it. His eyes jerked open and I shut my own as I cleanly, swiftly, snapped his neck in two. Instantly, he fell still and I let his body slip from my hands.

"Esme," I whispered aloud. "You are avenged."

I buried the act deep in my consciousness as I ran towards home. Although I was sure Edward would learn eventually of what I had done, I did not want him to know right away. I would pick the right time and place to reveal to him that Esme's husband was dead by my own hand and I would only do if I was sure he would never tell her.

I knew she could never know. I had spent the last six months trying to prove to her that I was something more than just a murderous monster. If she found out, then she would believe the worst of me.

I reached the house just as morning was beginning to dawn. I could smell Edward in his room, reading, and Esme was in hers as well, practicing her French. I smiled to myself at her pronunciation. Edward and I would have to work with her.

But right now, I needed to protect her from knowledge of the crime I'd just committed. Without a sound, I let myself in the front door and ran silently up the stairs to my room. I had no blood on me, but I was sure I smelled like Charles Evenson, and I couldn't let Esme catch me in these clothes.

My foot hit the last step before the landing and I froze. Esme stood by her bedroom door, her hand still gripping the brass handle, and our eyes locked.

Her face remained totally blank, and I wondered if she knew. Perhaps she had forgotten her husband's scent. Maybe she would not remember and I could simply offer some excuse . . .

"You killed Charles." The words were delivered without heat and without accusation. Silence stretched out between us. In my centuries as a vampire, I could not remember ever being rendered this mute.

She spoke again, and again there was no question in her voice. "You killed him."

I could no longer deny it, so I simply nodded, helpless and secretly, deeply, afraid of her reaction. I begged silently for Edward, but he did not appear.

Esme took a step forward, out of the shadows of the hallway, and her skin glittered dully in the dim morning sun.

"How did you know?" Esme's voice was still quiet, but it was filled with an undeniable questioning wonder.

"Know what?" I began to ask but instead, Esme cut me off.

"Know that I wanted him dead."

"I didn't," I confessed. "I was afraid you would hate me."

She said nothing and I automatically corrected myself. "That you would hate me even more, of course."

"I don't hate you," she murmured. "Not anymore. You did what I could not."

Then she walked towards me, the corner of her mouth tilted up and if I hadn't known better, I would have thought she was smiling. _She should be furious_, I thought to myself. _She's walking over here so she can take me by surprise and kill me._

She stopped directly in front of me, and every muscle in my body coiled for her inevitable strike.

Except that her strike wasn't physical. There were no blows to my body; only to my heart.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you." And she lifted one hand and though it trembled slightly, her eyes were clearer than they had ever been toward me, and she brushed her fingertips lightly over my cheek. "Thank you."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Phew, I'm so glad I managed to get this out on time despite Comic Con. I thought I might have to postpone, but then inspiration struck :) I have to thank my mom (yes, she reads this. . .HI MOM) for coming up with the second scene in this chapter. It's a much needed dose of awkward humor, and I hope you enjoy it!**

**Thanks to Whit, who, as always, is a killer beta.  
**

* * *

**Esme**

I knew I should be furious with him. I felt like I'd spent so much of my time the last few weeks desperately trying to cling to the shreds of my anger, wrapping them around me like a protective cloak. But now, in the face of Carlisle's monumental sacrifice, the wisps that still remained had dissipated once and for all. Instead, all I felt was a great relief, as if an enormous burden had been lifted off my chest and I could breathe freely and easily for the first time in as long as I could remember.

My face burned with the reality of what I had done and the very skin where my fingers had brushed his cheek tingled. I clenched my hand tightly into a fist, scared and confused at the intensity of my reaction. Carlisle's eyes burned into my back as I walked away from him, unabashedly retreating to my room in a flurry of jumbled thoughts.

I _hated _him. Or at least I was supposed to. Somehow in the last weeks, the hatred I'd used for so long to shore up my defenses and to protect me from truly having to face this new life, was gone and I was left floundering--desperately searching for something to take its place.

Knowledge twisted through me, sending me stumbling to the edge of my bed. I didn't want to face what I knew inherently to be true: that I'd already _found _what could replace the hate inside me. Like a persistent green sprout waiting for the lushness of spring, love for my new family had taken hold inside me. I loved Edward for his incredible kindness, for his ability to comfort me, and for his empathy.

I couldn't explain so easily my feelings towards Carlisle. I no longer hated him, but I didn't love him either. As I sat on the edge of the bed and watched the sun rise outside my window, I decided that I cared for him. The fact that he cared for me could no longer be denied, in any case.

From my conversations with Edward, I knew the struggle that Carlisle had endured to continue his existence as a vampire and not lose his soul to degradation and sin. He had never taken a human life in order to survive. He was possibly the first to ever sustain himself solely on animal blood and he had discovered the ability only after trying to end his existence. And after all these hundreds of years of self-sacrifice and denial, he had given in to the monster within himself. Not for the sustenance of blood. Not because he lost his self-control. Not for any of the numerous reasons that a vampire would take a human life.

He had done it for justice.

He had done it because it had to be done, and he knew that I would never be able to.

I stood up and walked over to the window, wrapping my arms around myself. The sunrise was flawless, a veritable cascade of tumultuous reds and oranges and yellows. In the face of such beauty, the sudden flare of satisfaction at Charles' death felt wrong and evil; as if I had finally given in to the soulless state of my nature.

I was pondering whether this newly-discovered darker side was truly wrong or if it was simply a symptom of my vampirism, when I heard steps outside my door. I froze, sniffing the air, but as soon as I confirmed that it was _not _Carlisle, I relaxed.

"Esme, it's Edward," he called from the other side of the door, even though I knew from his scent who it was.

"Come in," I answered, turning towards the door. It swung slowly open, and I knew instantly from Edward's facial expression that he knew what Carlisle had done and that he was anything but pleased.

He shut the door behind him and joined me at the window. We stood in silence, watching the sunrise. I could feel the anger and tension radiating off him like heat, but I wasn't sure what or who he was so upset with. I didn't think it was me, but when I glanced up at his carefully blank, controlled expression, I suddenly was no longer sure.

"You're angry." I tried to keep the judgmental tone out of my voice since I could hardly judge Edward for being furious when I had spent a good portion of the last six months in the same state.

He nodded, a sharp, hard movement that gave nothing away. I knew there was no benefit in prying; he knew I was curious, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I felt extremely protective towards Edward. In the last months, he had become a companion and a friend. And while he could never be a replacement for the son I had lost--that was impossible--but instead, he was a welcome addition in my heart.

The sun had almost totally risen in the sky by the time he spoke.

"Did you ask him to do it?"

I had expected Edward to say any number of things. His question took me totally by surprise.

"Of course not," I answered, unable to help my indignant tone. "I would like to think you know me well enough to know that I would _never _have asked Carlisle to kill someone."

"But you're pleased." Edward turned towards me, a crease furrowing his brow. He obviously couldn't understand the conflicting emotions I was struggling with. I couldn't blame him for that since I myself didn't understand them either.

But still, Edward needed an explanation, so I would try to supply one. "I am... not pleased exactly, but... grateful." I paused, searching for the right word, as the furrow between Edward's brows deepened. "Charles Evenson was a terrible man. His behavior was the catalyst for me leaving him. I was pregnant with no money. When I had my baby, I needed more care. I just couldn't afford it. Maybe my baby would be alive today if I had been able to pay for a doctor. And that's justice**,** right? An eye for an eye."

I left unsaid the supposition that if my baby had lived, I would not be here today, with Edward and Carlisle, and I certainly wouldn't be a vampire.

"You blame him, then."

I was more than a little confused now, but I continued to try to humor him. Surely Edward had heard all these thoughts in my own head, at one time or another. I sighed. My feelings were so complex it was difficult enough for me to unravel their individual strings, nonetheless try to explain them to someone else. Maybe Edward had been confused as well and now he just needed clarification.

"I do. I blame him, and God, and even myself, sometimes. Blame is difficult to place on just one thing."

"Did you tell Carlisle that?" Edward's expression was still inscrutable and I was beginning to have the impression that this was more of an interrogation than a conversation.

I shook my head. "I don't know why Carlisle acted. We never discussed it."

The sky was heavily tinged with clear blue now. "You know he had never taken a human life before now." Edward's voice was low and I could hear his underlying anguish for the first time.

I nodded.

"He did it for you." Bitterness was now rampant in Edward's voice.

I wanted to lie, desperately, but the fanatic realism blazing in Edward's eyes was its own sort of truth serum. "I know."

"You should know," Edward continued, almost conversationally, "that I wouldn't tell Carlisle about him. He figured it out on his own."

I _had _wondered how Carlisle had discovered that Charles was a worthless excuse for a man, and I had assumed, of course, that Edward had told him. But it appeared that it was my own fear that had opened Carlisle's eyes.

"You were afraid. Terrified to even touch him," Edward confirmed and I looked up into his face to see that his expression had softened. "He hated that you were afraid."

I had acknowledged, of course, that Carlisle's feelings would have to run deep to commit such an action, but to hear them said aloud enhanced their effect on me. Never in my entire life had anyone committed such an unselfish act for me. Edward did not need to tell me the repercussions; they were embossed on my brain and in my heart.

"Are you still afraid?" he asked.

I shrugged and couldn't deny that I'd wondered the same thing myself. With the sudden realization that Charles was dead and gone, unable to ever hurt me ever again, I'd hoped perhaps my fear had shrunk. I'd touched Carlisle partially to prove to myself that I was strong and I could overcome this weakness in me, and partly because I wanted to see how much difference Charles' death had made.

And, finally, deep down--so deep that I could barely let myself think it--because I'd _wanted_ to touch him.

"A little... still. But much less." I gave Edward a tremulous smile and to my surprise, he smiled back, and it seemed that the dark clouds surrounding him had cleared, at least for now.

"Esme . . ." Edward paused, as if he was searching for the right words. " I'm... glad for you. Really, truly. Regardless of how I feel about what Carlisle did."

Despite Edward's words, I had a feeling that this was not the last I would hear of his confusion. I could still see the echoes in his eerily deep amber eyes. The questions remained unsaid, but they remained.

--------

**Carlisle**

A week after my trip to Chicago, I stood in front of Esme's door, minutely straightening my suit and then my tie, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. All of which was ridiculous, I knew, but I couldn't help myself. The last week had been a revelation. Slowly but surely Esme was beginning to emerge from her shell, and nobody was more surprised than I that the reason for this transformation was what I had done to her husband.

It was as if the last breath he took released the hold the fear and anger and bitterness had held on her, and she was freer. This independence took many forms. I'd heard her laughing with Edward the day after I'd returned, and the pure innocent sweetness of the sound had completely torn away all the concentration I'd focused on the medical journal in my hands.

The day after that, Esme had given me a shy smile as she walked down the stairs in the morning, and I'd walked around with stars in my eyes for the rest of the day. Never in my wildest dreams, in all the hundreds of years that I'd existed on this earth, had I ever thought that I could feel love such as I felt for Esme.

I was sure that Edward had heard my thoughts on all these occasions and for the rest of the week, but we had not spoken of it. I had certainly sensed his anger towards me over the Charles Evenson incident, but I'd waited for him to come to me. I knew he wouldn't talk even if I tried to force him, so I waited until he had worked through the confusion in his own mind and he was ready to share. I was sure that he would have plenty to say on the subject of Esme. I remembered my own promise to him to not pursue her, and I wondered even now how I would convince Edward to release me. I'd given my word, and I desperately wanted to be a man of honor and keep it, but whenever Esme smiled at me, I felt my self-control slipping by degrees. Now that she no longer hated me, I could only wonder if maybe she could fall in love with me the same way I'd fallen for her.

Edward and Esme had returned from hunting only an hour before, and I knew she'd returned directly to her room, to freshen up and to work on her French. I could hear her now, turning the pages slowly and murmuring the words with totally the wrong pronunciation. I'd have to work with her before too long--before she learned it the wrong way permanently.

But today, I was here for a different purpose. Resolutely, I lifted my hand to knock on the door and instead of hitting the wood, my fist connected only with the air.

Esme stood looking at me expectantly. Clearly she'd heard my footsteps and smelt my presence outside her door and had finally come to investigate what was taking me so long.

"Esme," I cleared my throat, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand instead of how beautiful she looked. Dusk had fallen, and there was a single lamp on her dresser radiating a warm rose-tinted light onto the shadows and curves of her cheekbones and turning the sweep of her honey-colored hair into a veritable halo around her face. "Can I come in?"

She moved gracefully to the side, waving me inside. I hadn't been in Esme's room very many times, but every time I had been, it had been bright daylight. Now, with the dim lighting leaving much of the room dark, Esme's room suddenly seemed unbearably private and I was acutely aware of the fact that we were completely alone. Edward had left again for another run through the darkening forest, and would not return for some time.

I extended the papers in my hand towards her. She plucked them effortlessly from my grasp and gave a little excited gasp when she saw they were descriptions of furniture. _Her _furniture.

Her eyes devoured the page and she didn't look up at me for a good five minutes, so lost was she in examining the reports from the antique stores I had done business with on previous occasions.

Just when I'd decided that I had to ask if the reports were satisfactory, Esme looked up at me, and the glowing happiness on her face took my breath away. I had never before understood men or vampires who would trample their own pride or sacrifice everything to gain even the slightest advantage in their lady's eyes. Not once had I felt that way for Pia. But today, tonight, with Esme's joy shining in her eyes, I more than understood those who had come before me--I _sympathized _with them. This woman held my soul and my heart and my sanity in her very hands and I had to admit to myself that she had no idea.

She was utterly clueless that I would do _anything _to bring that expression to her face as many times as I could.

"Carlisle, this is wonderful. Thank you." I could not help the way my pride swelled at the happy satisfaction in her voice. She did not love me, but I could make her _happy_. That was enough, at least for now.

"However," she continued, the delicate skin between her brows puckering, "I'm a bit confused here."

Just as she held the ability to carry me to the greatest heights, Esme also had the power to dash me to the earth. "Confused?"

"Yes." Without even realizing what she was doing to me by her very nearness, she walked closer and pointed to the listing in her hand. "There's beds listed here, in the bedroom suites, but I won't need a bed."

If I could have, my face would have flamed bright red, but as it was I could only stammer out, "No bed."

Her frown deepened. "This bed is... well, ugly," she admitted, gesturing towards the plain, unfinished pine bed that currently sat to the right of us. I had purposefully avoided looking at the bed every single other time I'd set foot in Esme's room, but I could hardly avoid it now. I looked at it, and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. For a vampire who'd been around for hundreds of years, I was still prudish. There had been only one woman, and I had never felt like I was truly relinquishing any part of myself to her. Esme, on the other hand, stripped all pretense away, leaving me naked and exposed.

"It is ugly," I said, because she was right and because I wasn't sure what else I could say.

"And I won't need a bed," she continued. "Just a settee or a comfortable chair will suffice. Do you think I could obtain one of these bedroom suites without the bed?"

Dangerous thoughts cascaded through my mind. I could only think of all the reasons why Esme might need a bed in the future and I was extremely glad in that moment that Edward had left the house and was not present to hear them.

I couldn't deny the fantasies I'd secretly harbored of coming to Esme in her grand bed, the wispy curtains partially shielding her from my view. My lips kissing hers as we fell back onto the huge raft of a mattress...

"Carlisle?" Esme asked, a hint of concern in her voice. My head snapped up and I met her confused gaze. I must have lost myself momentarily in my fantasy.

"No," I told her decidedly. "You have to have a bed."

Esme's expression grew more confused. "I'm not sure why I would," she told me. "Edward doesn't have a bed. _You _don't even have a bed." She gave me a pointed look and I wondered if I could possibly explain to her why that made it even more imperative that she did. I was old-fashioned, and aside from that, I was surprisingly loathe to give up the idea of my fantasy becoming reality.

I knew the second Esme realized what I was trying to say. Her mouth open and closed and she looked at me with this shocked, completely outraged expression. "Dr. Cullen," she said stiffly, "I..."

I could not bear that she think so ill of me. She had just, after six long months, given up her hatred. I was not ready to start that pattern again. So without even thinking, without once considering the consequences of what this might mean to us and our carefully structured life here, I took three steps towards her, closing the distance between us. Esme stayed rooted in place, her eyes wide and astonished. She said nothing, but watched me warily as I stopped in front of her.

"Don't hate me again," I begged softly. "And I promise... I will respect your wishes in this area. If it means a hundred years. If it means never. I swear to you. But I cannot deny us the chance."

She held my gaze firmly, challenging me almost, as we stood so close that I could have simply leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. But I didn't. I knew I would have to wait until she was ready--if she was ever ready.

Esme sighed, a gust of resignation. " I... can accept that," she finally said. " Maybe... perhaps... someday." Her eyes lifted to mine and the glimmer of hope in their depths nearly undid my self-control. I could stand in front of an opened body, gushing blood, without even a quiver of temptation. But this... Esme... now... this was a new and much, much more difficult. And, I reasoned with myself, she was not exactly saying no. In fact, she wavered towards me, moving the tiniest angle closer to me. As a human I would never have noticed it, but as a vampire, I knew she was considering it, just as I was.

I was so caught up in the manifold attractions of the light glowing on Esme's skin that I did not even hear the footsteps race down the hall until it was too late.

"What the hell is this?" Edward growled into the yawning silence of the darkened room.

* * *

**AN: I know, I employ the cliffhanger way too much in this story. It's a personal failing.**

**So, not many commented on the decidedly-AU nature of last chapter. Technically SMeyer never told us what happened to Charles Evenson, but still, I think Carlisle killing him could probably be considered AU. So I'm going to ask you opinion. . .do you consider this still Canon or has it veered into AU territory? I'm really curious to see what you guys think so let me know!  
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	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Wow, it seems that I've opened Pandora's box with my question of AU vs. Canon. A lot of you had strong opinions on the topic, and I'm glad to see that. A strong opinon is always better than none at all. It does seem though that you're split about half and half. Some of you feel very strongly that this is still Canon because I haven't contradicted anything that SMeyer wrote. Others believe that Carlisle wouldn't have ever murdered someone or he wouldn't have done it as easily (or as quickly) as I have written here. To clarify (and I did look this up), Carlisle's "record" is "almost" as clean as Rosalie's. I think the exact quote says he's never TASTED human blood--this does not mean he hasn't committed a murder. Rose killed her attackers, but didn't drink their blood. Same type of thing here. Should Carlisle feel more remorse? I think it's important to note that we never hear his thoughts--we see Carlisle almost exclusively through Bella's POV throughout the four novels. SHE doesn't think Carlisle could kill someone. However, I think that Carlisle has an incredible protective streak, especially when it comes to Esme. That's why I had him do what he did to Charles Evenson.**

**HOWEVER, I have decided that for the sake of argument (and for events that are coming up later), I'm calling this Canon with a dash of AU. I know Canon technically precludes the addition of any AU, but to me, it's kind of both.**

**Thanks to my awesome beta, Trinity!**

* * *

**Carlisle**

I was almost 300 years old. As a vampire, I'd seen more waste and destruction and utter chaos than most people could ever imagine. Edward, before his change, had been a relatively sheltered 17 year old boy. Esme, while perhaps a bit more familiar with the ways of the world than Edward, was still naive. In addition, they had had mere months to accustom themselves to the extraordinary control that a vampire could summon.

As a result, neither of them knew that in that moment, with the death of Charles Evenson newly under my belt, I nearly added a second.

Anger roiled inside me, insidious and powerful. I reigned it in though and merely turned towards Edward, voice clipped yet calm. "Outside, Edward. Let's not disturb Esme with our. . .disagreement."

Esme, of course, only six months into her new form, couldn't hide the worry spreading over her face. Edward hid it better, but I could still see the anger shading his eyes and his features hardened as we walked outside, his resoluteness becoming more obvious every step we took.

We reached the clearing, which we knew was out of normal vampire hearing range and I turned to face Edward, expecting all the vitriol and rage and fury he could throw at me, but instead, he looked merely sulky.

I, on the other hand, was still boiling with rage. At what, I wasn't exactly sure. Was I angry that Edward had interrupted the moment that had passed between Esme and I? Surely, nothing would have happened. I would have stopped myself before any . . .physical contact occurred. If nothing else, _Esme _would have stopped me. Surely.

I decided I was just angry enough to continue to string Edward on. "Explain yourself." My voice was still polite but it had taken on an edge that I hadn't allowed while in Esme's presence.

He said nothing, but continued to sulk, staring at the ground at his feet. "Edward," I said warningly. "Your behavior requires an explanation. You were impolite to me, as well as to Esme. This is unacceptable. You may be a vampire, but that doesn't preclude you from being a gentleman."

I'd done my best to try to shame him, trying to provoke some sort of explanation, and his eyes shot up, meeting mine, and I could see the embers of his anger banking.

"You promised. . ._promised_. . .you wouldn't touch her," Edward sneered. "Breaking your word isn't exactly 'gentlemanly.'"

"You asked me to promise so that I wouldn't harm her accidentally. Because of Charles and their marriage. Is that correct?" I knew, deep down, in the very core of my being, that I could not hold to my promise, and I had to do everything in my power to force Edward to release me, so that whatever Esme and I had, we could explore it without me breaking my word. My first plan of attack involved logic.

"He _hurt _her." The tone in Edward's voice was savage, and I understood exactly what Edward was trying to convey. I had been that angry over Charles and the way he'd treated Esme, but now, with Charles dead at my hand, I found that while I still burned at the injustice of it, I no longer experienced the same level of fury.

"I know he did. And he died for it." I was a little surprised at just how matter-of-fact my voice was. I had expected myself to feel more guilt and shame for what I'd done. Instead, I just felt justified. Vindicated. I'd spent the whole week since I'd returned searching, desperately, in myself for something, _anything_, that meant I regretted what I'd done. But Esme's affirmation had totally destroyed whatever guilt I had felt. Charles Evenson had been an evil brute of a man, and I couldn't find it in myself to regret ending his life.

"You knew you were going to kill him," Edward said, nearly growling at me, his eyes compressed to mere slits of anger. "You'd already decided, and you made me promise not to do it."

Unfortunately our "civil discussion" had deteriorated into Edward hurling accusations and me doing my best to deflect and defend. I briefly considered doing what I could to derail the train we were currently on, but decided instead that maybe this was good for Edward. He'd spent the week building up resentment towards me and what I'd done, and the pressure inside him needed to be released.

So I let him yell and yell and yell, hurling accusation after accusation in my direction—and not only because I thought he needed it, but also because I wasn't sure I didn't deserve it.

"I didn't know," I retorted. "I didn't know until . . .until Esme couldn't hug you. Until I knew then that the fear had totally overtaken her and she was like a bird in a cage. Surrounded by love but unable to be embraced by it. It was then I knew I couldn't let him live." I felt myself shaking a little, trembling with the remembered violence of that unbearable need to see the slime stop breathing forever.

"Yet you didn't ask for my help. No, _why _would you need it?" Edward sneered at me, and like the teasing whiff of a woman's perfume, I begun to wonder why it was exactly that he was so angry. There was something, some hint, some clue, some _connection, _that I was missing. So metaphorically I rose from my defensive stance, and with a single direct stare, went on the offensive.

Unfortunately for Edward, he didn't have fifty years of experience living with the Machiavellian minds of the Volturi. He stood no chance.

"I didn't," I said sharply. "You would be loud and clumsy, still. If you'd accompanied me, chances are that our body count would be higher than just Charles Evenson."

I tried to watch dispassionately as my barbed words fell on the suddenly defenseless boy I thought of as my son. I hated the thought of being cruel to him, but it was necessary. I had to find out why he was so disturbed. My hunch was growing stronger by the second as Edward seemingly crumpled in front of me.

But he remained paralyzed and silent, so I continued. "Do you really believe you could have killed him and not been tempted to drink his blood? It smelled. . ._good_." I didn't add that I would much rather have drunk sludge than Evenson's blood. I wouldn't want any particle of his evil inside me.

"I wouldn't have," Edward shrieked, his voice almost cracking and breaking. "God, no."

"I broke his neck," I said savagely. "Just a simple little twist of my hand while he slept."

Loathing broke over Edward's face, and the mystery of his anger dissipated.

I said nothing. Edward didn't move. Finally, he spoke, and I abhorred myself for the way he couldn't quite look into my eyes. "You're a _monster_," he whispered.

I could barely force myself to move, but I managed to lift my shoulders in a grotesque semblance of a shrug. How I had hoped to keep this soul-deep knowledge of what he was from him. But in the end, he had to know. "I'm a vampire, Edward. No more, no less."

"But you . . .you said that we strive to be something _other _than a vampire." He was hysterically accusatory, desperate to mend the shreds of his faulty impression that I was a benevolent vampire.

"We do, Edward. We _strive_, but we vampires are alike humans in that we, too, have feet of clay. We fall. And unfortunately, unlike a normal human sin, we have a predilection for . . .death."

"No," Edward snarled. "_No_."

Our battle up to this moment in time had been in words only, and so I was caught off guard when instead of continuing the verbal assault, Edward let fly his own vampire nature, and flung himself at me. He was fast, even though his newborn speed had almost totally faded, and before I could deflect him, as I'd so easily turned his words aside, I was on the ground and his marble hands were bands around my neck.

I didn't enlighten him that he wasn't hurting me or that he couldn't harm me in this way. I had yet to teach him anything about vampire combat, and for that I was thankful. I was strong, but Edward still had the slightest advantage of sheer brute strength. But just like I had let Edward have the upper hand in our verbal combat, I didn't fight him or budge as he persisted in squeezing my neck with all of his not-inconsiderable strength.

I heard her approach before Edward, who was too busy attacking me to pay attention to his peripheral senses. I waited for her to speak, to order Edward off me. Or even for her to join Edward in trying to kill me. I was completely unprepared for her to take the action.

* * *

**Esme**

Of course, I had no intention of letting the two of them go off together alone—not when Edward was so angry and Carlisle so resigned to it. So**,** using every bit of the practice I'd had in the last six months, I slunk down the stairs behind them, trying not to sound like a lumbering elephant.

I wasn't surprised to see them head towards the clearing. This seemed to be the popular spot in the Cullen household for conversations that weren't meant to be overheard. I hid a good distance away, hoping that they wouldn't sense me, but close enough that I could still hear their words.

When they finally started talking—it was actually more yelling than talking; I probably could have heard them clearly from inside the house—I was not surprised.

I had known that Edward's anger a week ago had been misplaced. He'd actually been upset with Carlisle, but had chosen me instead. Then Edward had mentioned the promise—one that Carlisle had made not to touch me, and the trees swam around me as I tried to understand how this fit into the rest of the life I'd known since being changed. It certainly explained Carlisle' hesitation and his "touch me not" attitude. It also explained the protective attitude that Edward had taken towards me from the first morning I'd awoken.

I also knew that while Edward had had my best interests at heart, that promise hadn't been his to force Carlisle to make.

So I straightened, ready to approach and set them both straight, when I heard Carlisle's voice, no longer gentle and kind, lash out at Edward. I stopped in my tracks, and carefully, silently moved the branches in front of my face, hoping that they would be so absorbed in their argument that they wouldn't hear.

I still couldn't see them, though. And when I heard the smack of stone hitting stone, I knew that things had gone too far. I would have to intervene.

Running into the clearing, I was not terribly surprised by the scene I found. I knew Carlisle, while capable of killing my husband, would _never _be able to attack Edward.

I slowed, and walked closer, not overly concerned by the sight of the two of them brawling on the ground until Edward leaned to the side and I saw that he had his hands wrapped around Carlisle's throat.

Instantly, the hum in my veins rose to a shriek. Every instinct inside my body reacted and the world washed red. Before I could even process the thought, I was across the meadow and easily, simply, like he weighed no more than a feather, I grabbed a handful of Edward's shirt and plucked him off Carlisle as easily as if he were a mere feather.

I tossed him down, taking no pains to make sure he landed easily or neatly. Violence and anger and fury rushed through me and I was drunk on my own power.

I turned to Carlisle, kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?" I asked, letting my head graze far too close into his personal space, and the dark excitement inside me rejoiced. There was something incredibly elemental about the electricity that crackled between us as I gave him my arm and helped him rise to his feet.

He seemed uninjured, but it was only until I verified this that I turned back towards Edward. He'd risen to a crouch and was staring silently at the two of us.

"Edward," I asked sharply. "What were you thinking? You could have hurt him."

"No, I couldn't have," he laughed derisively.

"He's right, Esme. I'm fine." Carlisle spoke from behind me and I forced myself not to jump as he lay a hand on my shoulder. "But thank you, regardless."

I was sure he meant the gesture to be comforting, but instead it was much hotter than I'd anticipated, and the palm of his hand nearly seemed to burn through the thin cotton of my blouse. I forced myself not to move, not to shrug his hand off, so that he would not know my weakness. And yet, it wasn't the same as the fear I'd felt before. This was different—terrifying because I secretly, desperately, craved _more_. And what exactly _more _was, I was not yet sure.

Edward must have heard the thought, because the moment after I thought it, he made a sound of disgust.

"Edward, please don't be rude," Carlisle chided kindly. "I know this is all difficult to process. But Esme has only been kind to you."

He shrugged, and I could see his bravado melting under the force of Carlisle's gentle stare. It was clear that he was trying to get to the bottom of Edward's sudden attitude, and I wondered what it was that Carlisle had discovered underneath.

"You choose _him_," Edward spat out finally. "A murderer."

I wasn't completely sure of my own choice—or even if I _had _consciously made a choice—and certainly I wasn't sure enough to defend it. So I spoke carefully. "You were trying to harm Carlisle. I was only preventing that. I didn't make any such choice."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Carlisle nodding in agreement beside me. "Your argument is with me. There's no need to involve Esme."

I agreed almost completely with this pronouncement. There was only one issue that I felt needed clarification before I withdrew and let them finish their "conversation."

"That's not entirely true," I countered, taking a step towards Edward, who still continued to glare sullenly at us. "Edward. You made a choice for _me_, in fact. Carlisle made a promise you had no right to demand of him."

He opened his mouth to argue but I held up a hand. "Let me finish. I appreciate the spirit in which you asked him to leave me alone, but that's my choice to make. If I want Carlisle to leave me alone, in any manner at all, I will simply ask it of him. It's not your place to decide who I can and can't consort with."

My words were the straw that broke the camel's back. The anger on Edward's face disintegrated, and the empty hole of desolation and fear in its place was heartbreaking.

"I. . .I. . .I was only trying to protect you, Esme," he said, sounding younger and more vulnerable than I'd ever heard him before. "I _heard _about your husband. . .I didn't mean to, it just happened. And I didn't want Carlisle to frighten you."

"I know you didn't," I said as soothingly as I could, giving him a kind smile. "And now that we've settled that, I'll let the two of you get back to your. . .'discussion.'" I couldn't help the small smile that escaped and as I turned to go, I was surprised to see Carlisle blocking my way, looking unusually firm.

"No, Esme. You're staying. We're a family now. We need to talk this out. Edward, I know you're angry with me." Edward nodded slowly and Carlisle continued. "For more than one reason, I'm sure. And I'm sure that it's partially my fault. I'd never changed anybody before you. I'd never even _considered _it—wait, that's not exactly true." He paused and glanced over at me. The tiniest little look, but the expression in his eyes was enough to send an arrow piercing my gut.

Carlisle had thought about changing me. When I was 17. I should have been furious. Disgusted even, that he'd considered, even for the briefest second, damning a young girl, but instead, deep where the arrow had hit, I only felt a melting, swirling heat. _Carlisle had wanted me even then._

_As you wanted him_. The thought slid unbidden into my mind. I'd spent so long denying it, pretending that I hadn't, that it was almost a relief to finally admit it. I'd certainly spent enough time fantasizing about the impossibly handsome and kind Dr. Cullen. To see him again had been a dream of mine—one that even through the hell of my marriage I hadn't given up.

Carlisle had continued talking, and his voice slowly came back into focus as the shock of realization passed. ". . .I should have been more careful with you. Smarter. Better. Anything to help you understand better this . . ._thing_. . .that we are." Carlisle ran a hand through his blond hair, and I could sense his frustration even from where I stood.

"I've always tried to be a better man," Carlisle said, and the earnestness in his voice nearly broke my heart in two. This man had killed. . _for me_. "And that was all I let you see. I didn't let you see that sometimes, trying isn't enough. You'll kill, Edward. Someday. And I need you to be ready for that moment."

Edward's expression was solemn. The anger that had surrounded him like a palpable cloud seemed to have mostly dissipated, but there was something different in his eyes now. Something had shifted. Altered. Something was never going to be the same for Edward. He would never be that naïve, innocent sweet seventeen year old boy ever again. That was my fault, ultimately, and I would have to live with that, forever. Even though I had never actually encouraged Carlisle to kill Charles, but I couldn't help but wonder if it was just my very existence that had doomed him in the first place. The first time he'd ever hit me, Charles had been fated to die at Carlisle's hand.

Carlisle walked slowly towards Edward, his arm outstretched as if they would shake hands, but instead of Edward taking his hand, he sagged into his arms. And I watched as they embraced, Edward trembling with the realization of his own fierce power.

We were a family, but at this moment, I knew that Edward needed Carlisle more than me. Deep down, to Edward, I would always be the interloper who had shown him the weakness of his father figure. So, casting a smile in their direction, I returned to the house alone, knowing that they needed time to repair the fence between them. I climbed the steps to my room, and settled down with one of the French books, sounding out the unfamiliar words one at a time.

The sun was about to rise when they returned hours later. I heard them before I saw them, but I did not move. I wasn't expecting either of them to approach me, at least not yet, so I jumped slightly when I heard the quiet knock on my door. I was even more surprised to smell Carlisle on the other side.

"Come in," I murmured, automatically smoothing my hair and then my skirt.

They had been hunting. Carlisle was splattered in blood. I knew it was elk, even from my perch on the bed. He stayed in the doorway, surveying me. The sun was just beginning to creep through the window, and I realized it had been a week to the day since Carlisle had killed Charles. A week since everything had changed irrevocably.

"Esme," Carlisle said, his voice low and sweet. "I've come to apologize. If I made you uncomfortable earlier. . ." He trailed off, and I was touched at how unsure he was. He was almost three hundred years old. Confident. Handsome. Accomplished. Despite everything, a good man. A _great _man. And he trembled before me like a young boy.

"There's no need to apologize. I'm not sorry. You're not sorry," I said pointedly. I saw a quiver of a smile on his lips. "You were right. It's . . .something that I. . ._we_. . .should consider."

I set the book aside, and he said nothing. I knew I'd astonished him with my frankness. I wasn't sure how to say what I felt, but I knew it needed to be said, so I attempted it regardless. "When I was 17 years old, I met you for the first time. You set my leg. But you did so much more than that. I . . .dreamt of you for years. Even up until the week I jumped off the cliff. Whatever you did. . .whatever you should have done instead, there _is _something between us, and it would be foolish to ignore it. To pretend it doesn't exist."

I glanced down, unsure why I suddenly felt so embarrassed. It felt as if I was slowly stripping down, but instead of clothes, I was peeling away something much more intimate. Years of thoughts and hopes and dreams condensed into a few feeble sentences.

"I'm not ready yet. But maybe someday."

Carlisle said nothing still. I couldn't bear to glance up and see his expression. Maybe I had misread or misheard. Maybe he didn't feel the same for me as I felt for him. Maybe he thought of me as an aunt or a daughter or a cousin or. . .

I didn't even get the chance to finish my train of thought. Suddenly he was _there_, so close to me that I took I gasped a little in surprise. "Esme, don't," Carlisle said, reaching out with one hand and gently raising my face so I could meet his eyes. "Don't ever be ashamed of how you feel."

I nodded, mesmerized by the pale perfection of his features, and of those hypnotizing golden eyes, so close to mine. "I know you're not ready yet. I'm . . .just _grateful _that you think you might ever be ready. Just know," he said, dropping his hand, and moving a step backwards, "that I'll be waiting whenever you _are _ready."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: A shorter chapter this time, but a necessary evil, I promise. This chapter is also very much a transition into the rest of the story. The next few chapters are PACKED with action. This just helps to get us there. Thanks to Trinity for being an awesome beta and Andrew for listening me ramble and to everyone who has read and reviewed!  
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**Esme**

Four months passed, one day sliding unremarkably into the next. Carlisle and Edward and I began to spend less of our time holed up in our separate rooms and more time, in the evenings particularly, in the living room downstairs. Mainly we read, though Carlisle was desperately trying to help with me my French. Edward spent much of his time during these sessions rolling his eyes at my hopeless pronunciation.

I'd never read much while I was human, but there had always been so much to do during the day—first when I'd lived on the farm as a child, and then a seemingly never-ending cycle of chores when I'd been Charles Evenson's wife. Now, my free time was endless**. **I worked my way through Carlisle's not-inconsiderable library, reading everything from literature to philosophy, even some of his simpler medical texts. If Carlisle was surprised at my suddenly-voracious need for learning, he said nothing.

The days slipped by, and then the weeks, like beads on a string, each one similar to the one before. Carlisle went to the hospital, but he almost always came home in the evenings now. The first month after our discussion over the bed, I'd expected him to push his suit, to press me in my decision to eventually become his mate, but he never mentioned it. Finally, I began to relax and we became friendlier, almost jovial. I wasn't sure if I was _happy_, but I couldn't deny that I was at least content.

Edward, on the other hand, grew quieter with each passing week. He started spending more and more time alone, and when I tried to discuss my concern with Carlisle, he simply sighed and said that he would come around, eventually.

There was that word again: _eventually_. I was beginning to truly understand what it meant to have an endless eternity outstretched in front of you. Time didn't just slow; it became inconsequential. So I let the matter with Edward drop and though I couldn't help but feel the pang of motherly worry, I tried to bury it so deeply that he would never hear it echoing in my mind.

After I'd selected the new furniture suite for my bedroom, Carlisle had brought home a catalogue with different wallpapers in it. I spent many pleasurable hours sitting with the catalogue in my hands, observing how the color of each paper morphed with the changing light. After I'd finally made my selection, Carlisle had sent away for it and he and Edward had put it up one evening before the arrival of the furniture. They'd both insisted that my help was unnecessary, so I found myself instead directing their efforts. In truth, I found I enjoyed supervising the tasks of furnishing my bedroom so much that I asked Carlisle if I could do the same for the living room.

He'd looked at me with something bordering on astonishment, and I thought for a second that he was going to turn me down, but instead, his surprise changed into a deep smile and he'd nodded his agreement. "Of course," he'd added, "we'll be leaving this place as soon as you're able to be near humans again."

This had taken me aback. Naturally I'd known that we would leave eventually, because we could never stay too long in one place and create questions with our inability to age like everyone else, but I'd not once considered that we would move so soon.

Edward was out again, or rather he had still not returned from his hunting trip many hours earlier, and Carlisle and I were sitting in the living room—me on the rather uncomfortable, stiff-cushioned settee, and him on his favorite green brocade armchair.

"So soon?" I asked.

My astonishment made him chuckle and he replied, "Why Esme, I wouldn't have thought you'd enjoy spending so much time with the two of us. When you're better able to be around humans, you'll be able to go out more—shopping, for walks, that sort of thing. Don't you miss that?"

Carlisle's words threw me into a flurry of confusion. I'd never been the most social creature, but even I was astounded to learn that I'd somehow lost that essential piece of humanity that craved social interaction.

I'd missed my baby, of course. I mourned him every day still, and I knew I would do so for the rest of my unnaturally long existence. But not once, _not once_, had I missed the company of humans. I had never even considered wanting to go into the town and mingle. Just the very idea filled me with an inescapable dread.

I looked up at Carlisle in utter horror. Even though he was no Edward, I could see that he understood from his sympathetic expression. I had learned during the last four months of Carlisle's company that he was an incredibly prescient, empathetic man. He felt my pain, Edward's pain, even the pain of the sick and dying patients at the clinic, just as he would his own. I supposed that after centuries of observing and living alongside both humans and vampires, Carlisle would be extraordinarily experienced, if not downright talented, in reading body language and facial expressions.

"I don't . . ." I stammered. "Should I miss it? I suppose I should, but I just. . ._don't_."

"You do," Carlisle insisted, leaning forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his golden eyes burning in their intensity. "You're just scared to be around humans. You worry you'll make a mistake."

I knew he was right. Deep down, I missed being able to window shop. I missed the noisy bustle of a crowded street. I missed even simple things, like conversing with a wide variety of people. All the philosophy tomes and French lessons in the world couldn't compensate for a smile or a kind word from a friend, or even from a stranger. And that was what was so forbidden to me: because even that simplest of human contacts would most likely mean death for them.

"It wouldn't just be a 'mistake,'" I laughed humorlessly.

"In time, you won't have to worry. I promise, Esme." His voice was comforting and though I allowed the effect to wash over me, relaxing my worries about having lost the part of me that was still human, I couldn't help but single out the part of his sentence that proved that I'd left human behind long ago.

_Time_.

Even adjusting as I had been to my immortal state, even I couldn't possibly comprehend it the same way that Carlisle did. To him, a few years were a mere drop in the bucket. Even the four months since his confrontation with Edward must have seemed like only seconds. I wondered at the intelligence of becoming involved with a vampire so much older and experienced than I. Surely he would eventually become frustrated with my naivety?

"Edward has still not returned," Carlisle said, turning his attention towards the door.

We'd spoken several times of Edward's new reticence and the increasingly long hours he spent away from the cottage. Carlisle insisted that he was getting into no trouble, and I had to admit that trouble was indeed out of Edward's realm. His character was sweet and even-tempered. Or at least it had been, until the most recent events.

Even Edward's much-beloved piano had sat silent in the corner of the sitting room, untouched. I resolved to ask him to play the next evening he was home; I missed the gentle lull of the music as his fingers skillfully maneuvered over the keys.

"Esme," Carlisle spoke again, "if you would do me a favor. . ."

I looked away from the piano and back up into his far-too handsome face. As much as I tried to deny it, the slope of his cheekbones and the line of his jaw had lately seemed imprinted in my consciousness. I tried to tell myself that I was not truly considering what he had offered four months ago, but with each hour we spent in each other's company, it became more and more impossible not see myself with him eventually. He was wearing me down slowly, through sweet smiles and understanding glances. And wallpaper.

And of course, the charming way he asked for favors.

"Of course," I answered, forcing the hesitation out of my voice. Carlisle had done so much for me: he had kept me safe from my own nature, lent me books, conversed with me for hours upon end, and had even spent an undoubtedly large amount of money on the furniture upstairs in my bedroom. I ignored the tiny, dark part of my heart that reminded me of the most precious gift he'd given of all: the miracle of immortality.

The _curse_ of immortality, I reminded myself, _the curse_.

"I know you want to talk to Edward, to understand his . . .isolation."

I nodded. I couldn't deny that I did. I wanted to help him the way he'd helped me all these months.

"I need you to promise me that you'll give him the space he needs."

I had been so sure that Carlisle's favor would somehow entail the opposite—somehow convincing Edward to confide in me. But instead, Carlisle confounded me once again. Just when I thought I could maybe begin to understand his motives and his purpose, I was again proven wrong.

I frowned. "Are you sure he needs that?"

"Absolutely." Carlisle nearly radiated confidence, and I reluctantly nodded my agreement. Up until now, I had still been convincing Edward to go hunting with me during the day, while Carlisle was at the clinic. I'd spend the whole trip chattering incessantly, uncomfortably trying to fill his uncharacteristic silence and force him out of his shell, but it never worked. I couldn't help but breathe a little sigh of relief that I would no longer have to bear the burden of getting to the bottom of what bothered Edward.

"If you are sure," I added. "You know what's best for Edward, obviously."

Carlisle stood up and crossed to the window, not moving even close to full speed. Instead, he almost meandered, as if he needed the time to gather his thoughts before he turned back towards me. "I understand him. Almost too well sometimes, I think."

Of course, I chastised myself for my obvious idiocy. Yes, Edward was a vampire, but he was also still a seventeen year old boy, with all the confusion inherent at that age.

"You see," Carlisle continued. "I was only a bit older than Edward when I was changed, but I was so sheltered by my father that Edward and I were strikingly alike in our maturity level. He . . .struggles with what he is. With what he has become. Much as I do."

I opened my mouth to protest that I too**,** struggled with my new existence, but he looked at me again, his eyes kind. "And of course you do as well, Esme. Not to diminish your own struggle. But your struggle is perhaps different than Edward's or even mine." He turned back to the window. "Your struggle is even harder, I think, and you bear it so much better than I did, or even than Edward does. You look soft and sweet, but you have a spine of steel."

I could barely process Carlisle's words. "You think so?" I stammered out.

"I do. You're braver than both of us put together. You have every reason to hate me, but you don't. You even strive to make us a home . . .to make us a family."

I said nothing, unsure how to respond to the compliments Carlisle was heaping on my head. When I was married to Charles, I'd discovered just how much I liked creating order out of the chaos around me.

"And so I know," he continued, "it goes against your very nature to not give Edward what comfort you can. But he . . .he needs the space. He will come around."

"Then I promise," I said simply, examining a hole in the hem of my dress. "Whatever Edward needs is what I will give him."

When I finally looked up, Carlisle was right in front of me, so close that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. I told myself that I had no interest in doing so, but that dark, subversive part inside me was growing stronger and it _longed _for me to touch him. This was the closest we had been in four months, and I couldn't help but remember that moment we had shared right before Edward had burst into my bedroom. As much as I denied it to myself, I'd nearly let myself do more than touch him.

"When Edward was dying of influenza, his mother proved how great her love for her son was by begging me to save him as she died. I know she would be more than grateful to you for being there for him, Esme, for being his second mother. She would even, I daresay, be _honored_."

Nothing that Carlisle had ever given me—not wallpaper, not beds, not conversations, not books, _nothing_—could have meant more than those words. And I knew then, that he had won the first corner of my heart.

"Thank you." I could think of nothing else to say, nothing that could possibly encapsulate how grateful I was to hear such a pronouncement.

And so tomorrow, I would go hunting alone. For the very first time.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Action is definitely beginning to heat up here--both plotwise and (maybe) relationship-wise between Esme and Carlisle. Oh, and Edward throws a hissy fit which I find way funnier than it probably is :)**

**If you like what I do with _Eve_**** or any of my other stories and want to help Stacie banish her nasty, evil cancer, please bid for my services in the Support Stacie Auction--link on my profile. This is the third Support Stacie Auction I have participated in, and each time I am floored by the incredible generosity of our fandom. And if you're not interested in bidding for me, there's an incredible list of about 100 other Twilight authors up on the auction block!**

**Thanks to my beta, Trinity, and also to Hopeful Wager, who wrote an absolutely killer recommendation for this story on the Secret Twilight Garden blog.**

* * *

**Esme**

I missed being able to sleep--and I didn't, all at the same time. On one hand, sleeping gave one the opportunity to skip those endless night hours. On the other, never sleeping gave me a new appreciation for those moments at dawn that I'd had precious little time to enjoy before, though I knew I'd never even _noticed _the way the sky looked right before the crest of the sun rose over the horizon.

Dawn had just broke when I left my room for my first hunt alone. The house was totally silent. I was glad of this, because I wasn't in the frame of mind to talk to anyone. Not that there were many individuals I could run into. There was a list of exactly two—and I wanted to speak to neither of them right now

But, I reminded myself firmly as I crept down the hallway, I wasn't sneaking out. Not exactly. After all, Carlisle had asked me to go alone, saying he would talk to Edward and explain the situation. I'd wondered if maybe it would be better for me to tell him myself that I was going alone, but Carlisle had politely insisted. I'd bowed out gracefully then, spending the remainder of the cold, black night in my room, curled up in the chair by the window.

With no sleep comes the opportunity to do much contemplation. I'd spent most of the hours until sunrise mentally preparing myself for this last step. When I went out into the world without Edward or Carlisle, I would be relying only on myself and on my untested self-control. I knew what _I _wanted and didn't want, but I also knew the vampire inside me didn't necessarily agree. Carlisle had reassured me that there would be no question of me running into trouble. "Just stay in the deep forest," he'd advised and I reminded myself of this fact as I descended down the stairs.

I intended to do exactly as he'd said. I would restrict my hunting to only the deepest parts of the forest--the parts where humans rarely, if ever, ventured. I closed the front door behind me, and stepped off the front porch. Dew still remained thick on the ground as I accelerated my walk to a casual run.

The forest was almost as silent as the house had been. I opened up my senses as Edward had taught me to do, and almost instantly caught a whiff of lynx. They were rare here, and I told myself it was a sign that my hunt today would be lucky and uneventful. I switched direction, speeding up slightly, feeling the trees fly by me as I followed the scent. It was so sweet, I had trouble believing that there was anything that could really, truly smell better. Edward, who'd been much closer to humans than I, assured me that I would finally understand the difference when faced with it.

But of course, today was not going to be the test of my self-control. Soon, Carlisle kept saying, but I was honestly in no hurry to discover just how far I had to go.

I tracked the lynx for what seemed like hours. The smell remained consistently strong, but the animal itself eluded me. At one point in my dogged search I looked up and realized I had been running for so long, all my senses so focused on finding the lynx that I had no real idea of where I was. I didn't think I'd ever been in this part of the forest before, and the adrenaline, already running hot through me as I tracked my dinner, surged again. I slowed, then stopped, forcing myself to take deep breaths—even though I didn't need to breathe, Carlisle had suggested I do it sometimes to try to calm myself when I felt the vampire inside me gaining control.

But I couldn't manage the fear inside me that was spiraling out of control because as I looked around the silent forest, I knew I was lost. Edward and I had hunted enough in the area directly around the cabin, but we had never been this far before.

I turned around me, looking for any small landmark that looked familiar. My hair whipped around my face and I felt despair begin to replace the fear bubbling inside me. How could I have been so monumentally foolish? I should have known better than to simply throw caution to the wind that way and race after an animal, lynx or not. As Esme Platt Evenson, the human, I never would have behaved so rashly, but as Esme Cullen, the vampire, it seemed to be almost second nature.

The predicament I found myself in seemed to illustrate perfectly the evolution I'd been experiencing over the last few months. With the insane blood thirst of a newborn calming and the adjustment to my new senses almost complete, I was becoming more and more aware of the two halves of myself that warred for dominance. I still felt like _me_, but now there was another being inside me—and while I hated that part of myself and wanted nothing more than to wish it away, there was something primitive and base in that half that I instinctually craved. I would never be just simple Esme Platt Evenson, sweet, nurturing soul, again. I would always have to fight that other part of myself. Nothing would ever be instinctive or easy from now on.

I walked on aimlessly, lost in my thoughts, trying to work my way back to the part of the forest that I knew, but I knew it was hopeless. No doubt, I thought darkly, Carlisle and Edward would have to eventually come find me, sensing me out the same way they would an animal they hunted. I pushed the humiliating thought aside and turned again, trying to remember the position of the sun as I'd run towards the scent of the lynx, but I gave up within minutes.

The forest went on endlessly, it seemed, as I pushed on determinedly, thankful that, at the very least, I wouldn't tire or need food or water. As a human, I would be dead within days. As a vampire, I was at least already dead. I was humorlessly chuckling at this irony when I stopped abruptly, momentarily stunned out of my thoughts.

The forest, which had seemed so endless only a moment ago, had ended and I was, I realized with paralyzing fear, on the very edge of the town. I took a single hesitant step forward, trying to stay hidden in the shadows of the trees. The sky was bright and blue today, and if I was seen, any human would instantly know something was not right. That is, I thought, if they got a look at me before I succumbed to the pull of their blood.

Just a brief look—I told myself that was all I wanted. It had been so long since I'd seen the town or even a person who wasn't Carlisle or Edward. He'd been right, I thought as I skirted the edge of what appeared to be a large field. I _had _missed the interaction. But the fear that I'd always thought would hold me back and prevent me from doing something irreparable with a human was instead pulsing through my veins as thinly-veiled excitement.

I scanned the horizon, confirming with my eyes and my sense of smell that not a single human was present, and stepped into the light of the field. Except, I realized as I walked farther in, this wasn't just a _field_.

With a dawning horror, I realized that I hadn't just found the town; I'd found the graveyard. And not just any cemetery, this was the very place where I'd buried my sweet baby boy a mere year before this. I hadn't recognized it because I'd never approached from this angle before—I'd always walked from the town.

Even if there'd been a possibility of a human arriving, I couldn't have stopped myself. I moved quickly, relentlessly, combing through the graves until I found the one I sought.

I stared for what felt like hours at the gray stone, finally sinking to my knees and tracing the carved letters with a fingertip. A million invading humans couldn't have moved me. After a year, I'd finally had to come to terms that he was lost to me forever, but at least now, I could sit here, near him, and remember the way he'd nestled so perfectly in my arms. The way he'd looked up at me with those bright blue trusting eyes. The gentle tug of his finger on mine. The memories came tumbling back, faster and faster, the longer I knelt in front of his grave, so many of them that I was sure I never would have gotten back if I hadn't found this place again.

I'd been lost, mired in a hopeless, never-ending cycle of grief, and now I was found.

Still, the visit was like twin torture—heaven and hell melded together into an inescapable need. The memories cut with a keen edge like a blade, but I welcomed the pain. This agony, at least, was because of what I'd rediscovered, not what I'd lost.

The sun grew hot over my head, and reluctantly I stood back up. I was loathe to leave him, now that I'd found him again, but I knew that this would hardly be the last time I would visit here.

I would come every day. Tomorrow, I promised my sweet baby, I'd bring him some pretty flowers to put on his grave. To match the others. So he could feel my presence even when I couldn't be with him.

I ducked back into the cool shade of the trees, my heart filled with joy, but tempered with fear. What if Carlisle, who was still convinced I couldn't be around humans, forbade me from visiting the graveyard? After all, as a doctor at the town clinic, he had to know it existed, and where it was located, and he had never suggested once that I accompany him. The wall holding Carlisle at bay that had just begun to crumble, was suddenly and inexplicably reinforced.

Would I trade Carlisle's good graces for the chance to visit my baby every day? Absolutely. There was no need to even consider the question, though I knew that if Carlisle found out what I had been doing today, he would never let me come again. I would have to keep it a secret.

It was only when I was back in the forest that I remembered that I was still mostly lost. I knew where I was in relation to the town and the cemetery, but I'd never left the cabin except to go into the forest to hunt. It was much later too—I could tell from the position of the sun overhead that it was at least late afternoon. Carlisle would be worried. He might even decide to come looking for me.

Unlike earlier, I almost hoped he would. I hated this hopeless feeling, and I wanted to be home, safe with my books and my small material comforts after such an emotionally exhausting day. So instead of continuing to try to make my way back, I sat down on a fallen log, and decided to wait for Carlisle to find me.

And I knew him. He would. Carlisle, I thought with only the smallest twinge of embarrassment, would do anything for me. He thought I didn't know, but his heart was in his eyes whenever he looked at me. He would find me, I was sure of it.

* * *

**Carlisle**

I would never have admitted it, but I'd been incredibly distracted that day in the clinic. Twice, I'd been caught nearly staring into space, which was very much unlike me. My focus had been honed by hundreds of years, and it had been so long since I'd had anything that came close to a genuine distraction that I'd almost forgotten what it meant. And Esme, she was undeniably a distraction.

I'd been worried about her going hunting alone. I knew it was an irrational fear. After all, I'd let Edward venture out alone long before I suggested to Esme that she do the same. There was something incredibly ironic about the sweet tender curve of her neck, when she swept her caramel hair up that belied the incredible strength and speed of her vampiric body. I desperately wanted to protect her, to shield her from all harm, but I knew if I continued to do so, I would lose her.

We had only recently come to an accord of sorts, and I was enjoying our new friendliness more than I liked to admit. I certainly didn't want to do anything to ruin it.

So I'd suggested to Esme that she take the first step to becoming more independent and start hunting alone. Edward, who had become increasingly sullen and difficult over the last few months, could use the space. Esme could use it too, I'd decided.

I left the clinic right when my shift was scheduled to end, and I wasn't shocked to see a few surprised glances in my direction. I had become something of a hero here; always working later than necessary, even pulling what some considered to be almost inhuman hours. Little did they know, I thought wryly, as I forced myself to keep to a walk in front of the humans on the street.

When I was finally out of sight, I decided to stretch my legs a bit and break into a run. I knew I'd been tense today, and I couldn't deny that I was anxious to hear from Esme how she had fared today.

To my utter surprise, the house was still very quiet when I opened the door. Leaving my bag on the kitchen table, I climbed the stairs and knocked on Esme's door. Silence. I knocked again, harder this time, enough to begin to splinter the wood.

I'd spent so many years honing my own strength to appear human that I was shocked at my own loss of control. Was I really so anxious about Esme? When no reply was forthcoming, I had to admit that yes, I was indeed. I knocked a third knock and when there was still no answer, I hesitantly turned the door knob and let the door swing open.

The room was empty.

Panic welled inside me. I had heard Esme leave this morning, even though she'd tried to be quiet about it. She was still learning her strength and how to control it, and while I praised her for how far she'd come, she often sounded like a herd of elephants on the staircase.

I walked down the hall to Edward's room. Knocking on his door, I wondered if he would even answer.

"Yes, I _will_," Edward said with annoyance rife in his voice, loudly enough that I could clearly hear him through the solid wood that separated us. "Please do come in."

Careful to keep my face expressionless and my mind blank from all incendiary concepts, I opened the door to find Edward sitting at his desk, a rather large calculus tome in front of him. Paper with scribbled notations laid at his elbow and he appeared deep in thought, bent over the text like it held some hidden mystery he was desperate to uncover.

"Hello, Edward, how are you this evening?" I asked, aware that I sounded strangely formal. It seemed as if the comfortable, casual relationship that we had enjoyed before Esme's entry in our lives had morphed into something awkward and strained.

"I'm busy," he replied curtly, refusing to even turn around to face me. "What do you want?"

I sighed. "Is it so difficult to believe that I want to see how you're doing?"

"Yes," he said, head still in his book. "It is. Where is Esme?"

I had to confess. "That is the reason I'm here. She left this morning to go hunting and she hasn't returned."

That got Edward's attention. He glanced out the window, his eyes moving from the tome on the desk for the first time since I entered the room. "But it's dusk," he said, and he couldn't hide the worry from his voice. In fact, he suddenly sounded much closer to the naïve, innocent seventeen year old boy that I'd once known so well.

"It is," I confirmed. "You haven't seen her?"

He shook his head. "Not all day."

"Then I suppose I should go look for her," I said, desperately trying to keep my voice calm. I'd been the one who suggested, even made Esme _promise_, that she would go alone, and clearly it had not went well. I could not even voice the secret fear that she had run away and wouldn't be coming back.

I couldn't voice it, but Edward could. "Have you considered the possibility that she took the freedom you gave her and used it to leave?"

Four months ago, I would have considered the possibility, but then I also wouldn't have suggested she try hunting alone if I wasn't undeniably certain that she wouldn't leave us.

No, I told myself, you're wrong. You suggested it because you don't think she'd leave _you_.

"Precisely," Edward, responding to my unspoken thought In an unnaturally high, tight voice.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I've made you uncomfortable." I was aware that part of Edward's distance was his unease about the growing relationship I had with Esme, and despite that I'd argued nothing had to change between the three of us, it was ultimately a fruitless exercise. Edward was convinced that if Esme and I acted on our growing feelings, then everything would change.

I, however, was not quite ready to give up. We could still be a family. I was desperate, after so many years of abject and total loneliness, to have the family I had always dreamed of.

"I'm going to go look for Esme. Come with me," I offered with a smile.

I could feel Edward's hesitation in the way he tensed. He _wanted _to agree. He loved Esme like a mother, and though he'd tried to smother his concern for her well-being with his general anger towards me, I knew better. He wanted to make sure she was safe and unharmed. Perhaps Edward did not love Esme the way I did, but we did both love her.

"She doesn't want to see me." His voice was surly and I could easily detect a hint of childishness in it. I wanted to shake him senseless. Was he really so unobservant or did he just want to cross me? I had never imagined in all my years that having a child, a _son, _would be so infuriating and so rewarding at the same time.

"She does," I countered. "Esme loves you. She cares about you. As you care about her. What happens between us has nothing to do with you."

He said nothing. I was becoming rather frustrated with his taciturn rudeness. And even with his refusal to even look my direction during this maddening conversation.

"Edward, _please_. Come with me." I knew I was beginning to verge into exasperation, but I reminded myself reassuringly that every parent lost their temper with their child. It was inevitable.

"No." Edward's head bent down and I could see him at least looking at the heavy tome in front of him. Whether he was actually reading it remained unknown, but I had a strong feeling that it was just an act—one defiant act in a list that was growing increasingly longer by the day.

"Edward," I said, the warning tone in my voice evident. "I am growing . . .rather annoyed with your behavior. Rudeness is not to be tolerated in the Cullen house. Turn and face me and let us have a civil conversation."

Nothing. Edward's head remained firmly entrenched in the book.

"I am leaving to go search for Esme, your _mother_. You are coming with me. There is to be no argument . . ." I began, using the same voice I'd used all those years ago with the Volturi when they'd tried to insist I stay with them in Italy. However, in the middle of my pronouncement, Edward's chair jerked and then toppled to the ground as he stood up.

Finally, he turned to face me and his eyes were blazing with temper, like glowing hot coals. "Fine," he muttered, "I will go."

"Excellent," I said, the warmth of my smile not quite reaching my eyes.

He marched behind me out of his room, down the stairs, and onto the front porch, all saying nothing. I supposed I shouldn't have expected anything less—I had, after all, forced him into accompanying me.

Once outside, I closed my eyes, leaving my senses focused only on the various smells assaulting me. Concentrating, I picked out the one that was defined Esme: _vanilla, cinnamon, with just the slightest hint of flowers._

Opening my eyes, I glanced over at Edward, who nodded sharply, confirming that he too had smelled it. Following the scent was easy enough, and I took off in a jog, Edward following behind, in the direction where she had gone.

Esme's trail torturously twisted through the woods. Edward and I did not stop, even as dusk fell, and nighttime blossomed. I did not have to even ask Edward to open his own mind, hoping that he would hear a stray thought of Esme's as he volunteered an hour into our search: "I can't even _hear _her." There was a definite note of worry in his voice, and I was glad to hear that he had put away his angry attitude at least for the time being.

"Keep listening," I suggested. "We have to find her."

We criss-crossed the woods almost all the way through the night. Anxiety bloomed through my chest, and though her scent grew slightly weaker, it never grew stronger. She had not come back this way. She'd come through this way initially, but had not returned.

"She's intelligent," Edward said quietly, his voice surprisingly full of reassurance. "If she got lost, she would sit and wait for us. She hasn't left."

I stopped abruptly and turned to face Edward, who looked rather surprised at my own expression, which was no doubt hardened with fear and worry. "You would tell me, right? If you heard she was leaving, you would tell me, so I could stop her."

He nodded wordlessly, and I continued, "And she hasn't thought it?"

"Not once. Not for months. She's happy here. Well, _happier_," he amended, and his own voice sounded rather surprised, as if Esme finding happiness with us was unlikely.

"Right. Of course." I could not even express in words my own gratitude for Esme's forbearance of my flaws, but I was sure that Edward could hear the echoes of it in my mind.

"We need to keep going," Edward suggested.

"We're getting closer to the town."

"I've noticed," he said. "If she went in, Carlisle, she didn't do it on purpose."

"An accident," I replied grimly. "I never should have let her go alone."

I started running again, the fear inside me somehow forcing me forward again. I could hear Edward behind me, his footsteps light on the ground, and I again closed my eyes, losing myself in the scent of Esme's trail.

_Esme_.

A few minutes later, I realized that the scent was growing stronger as we neared the edge of the forest.

"I smell it too," Edward said, confirming my thoughts. "It's getting stronger."

And then, as if she was the easiest thing in the world to find, suddenly, I could make out her form in the darkness, sitting on a log, casually waiting for us like she did so every day of her life.

"Esme," I gasped out, the sheer relief of finding her nearly bringing me to my knees. She jumped to her feet, her golden brown hair swinging, casting more of her irresistible scent my direction.

"You found me," she said, a huge smile lighting her features as we walked towards each other. And before I could even begin to prepare myself, she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me close to her.

"I was so worried," I murmured into her hair. It was amazing that I had words at all. I had dreamt for so long of what this moment would feel like, and the reality of Esme so close to me was even better than I'd ever imagined. She was soft and warm and the goodness so inherent in her nearly seemed to leak out of her skin and into mine. Esme, I thought with a blinding clarity, would make me better. A better _man_. Before her, I had just been a vampire pretending to be something he could never be, but Esme, _Esme_, she would distill truth out of the fiction.

"Edward!" Esme exclaimed, letting go of me, her eyes lighting on the boy standing some distance away, watching us warily. She hugged him too, and I tamped down the jealousy that tried to surge through me at her action. I wanted to think that the moment we had shared was unique and special. _Different_. Selfishly, I had wanted to think that somehow this was the moment I had waited for, that this was the minute where everything between us irrevocably changed forever. That after this, I could begin to truly make her mine.

But from the similar greeting she gave Edward, I discerned that her action had been one of relief—not of love. I still had some ways to go before I could hope to win her, I told myself ruefully, but until then, until that moment when Esme held out her hand to me, she was, at the very least, my friend. _My family_.

"It's rather late," I said, turning towards Esme and Edward. "Shall we go home?"

"Let's," Esme said. She walked up towards me, a small smile gracing her beautiful face, and slowly, deliberately took my hand, her soft fingers twining together with mine.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Thanks for all the great reviews on the last chapter. We're really getting into it now. . .Again, I do not own this, but I have to thank Stephenie Meyer for leaving such massive plotholes that I can fill in :)**

**Thanks, as always to my superawesome beta Trinity, and to Angel who is so supportive, and also to Hopeful Wager, who makes me smile whenever I'm feeling blue.**

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**Esme**

This was the very first time I'd ever tried to consciously hide anything from Edward, and I found it excruciatingly difficult to marshal my thoughts with so much control while he was within hearing distance. I was sure that I would give myself away almost immediately, but luckily for me, Edward still spent a good deal of time away from the house, thus giving me much more mental freedom than I would have had otherwise.

I was sure he knew I was attempting to hide something from him, but he did not inquire as to its subject or, as far as I knew, mention it to Carlisle. He and I still spent almost every evening together, after he'd returned from his shift at the hospital and me from my day, "hunting," and I knew that if Carlisle knew I was keeping a secret, he would ask me.

What neither Carlisle nor Edward knew was that I did very little actual hunting, but instead, I painstakingly retraced my steps back to the cemetery. I kept a careful watch out for humans, but I never saw one. The lot was rather removed from the town, and I remembered from my human days that it had been rumored to be haunted. That would explain, I was sure, the general lack of human activity around it. Nobody went there and those that did, did not stay long.

I'd gotten used to the general scent of human blood and death that lingered around the cemetery, and a week's worth of visits went by before I saw anyone.

The seventh morning of my secret life, I'd bathed and dressed as usual, listened to door quietly shut behind Carlisle, as he left for the hospital, and then for it to bang shut after Edward. Carlisle had yet to extract out of Edward his destination on all these trips he took away from home, but he had told me he was sure that Edward was not doing anything dangerous. I was more than a little skeptical at his trust. After all, Carlisle believed that I was simply going hunting in the forest--he had no idea that I was instead visiting the one place he'd forbidden me to go and putting countless humans in danger. I didn't see Carlisle as naive; instead, he desperately wanted to believe that the people he loved made smart choices.

Deep down, in the dark reaches of the night, when I was allowed to think about my baby, I knew the risk I took to continue to visit him. A human could so easily stray into the cemetery while I was there, and I could lose control, but I reminded myself that we would be moving soon. In what could be a matter of mere months, I could lose even this small comfort; I had to grab it while I could.

With that reasoning negating the fact that I knew very well how dangerous it was, I continued to go despite the misgivings I had.

I skirted the edges of the forest, closing my eyes and letting the scent of decomposing bodies swamp my senses. Every human in the cemetery was dead and would be unable to tempt me. I took one step into the light and then another, cautiously making my way into the field where my baby lay.

Gently, I laid the bouquet of wildflowers I'd picked on the grave, joining the six other contributions I'd made during the last week.

I'd taken to talking softly to the grave, as if William could understand what I was saying somehow, and he could know how much I still loved him. Today, Edward was weighing heavily on my mind, and so I decided to tell my baby about the other boy who had wormed his way into my heart.

"Edward," I said, breaking the morning stillness, "is my other son. Sometimes I think he loves me. Other times, I think he wishes I didn't exist." I paused, trying to express in words the struggle that Edward was experiencing. "Carlisle, Dr. Cullen that is, he . . .he really is Edward's father. And sometimes I think he doesn't like that we are. . .friends. He doesn't like the attention that Dr. Cullen pays me."

I explained to William that Carlisle had broached this possibility the other evening, while we were sitting comfortably in the living room. I'd been examining a book of wallpaper patterns, while he studied a medical journal, and I'd looked up to see him staring at me intently, with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Carlisle, what's wrong?" I asked, momentarily terrified that a single thought of William had slipped while Edward was in the house and all was discovered.

"I've been thinking of Edward. Of what we can do to help him."

"Of course," I'd replied, still a bit flustered with panic that I'd thought I was caught. "Have you discovered anything?"

He sighed heavily, clearly not wanting to divulge what he'd learned. "I believe that Edward may not. . .approve of our friendship."

I had long suspected this as well, but hearing it vocalized by Carlisle was disconcerting. As much as I'd hated him for so long, I did not want to relinquish our growing relationship. I was continually amazed by the amount of comfort and companionship I'd begun to find with him. I did not know what the future held, but I did know that I didn't want to derail the possibility of more than just friendship.

"Surely, he cannot mind," I said, trying to convey that there were no feelings between us that Edward could not help but approve of. I knew I was lying, but Carlisle did not read minds, so I could manage to hide my own developing feelings much easier than I hid the secret of William's grave.

"He minds," Carlisle said gravely. "He minds a great deal. He feels left out. Alone. Perhaps even envious."

"And he does not approve of what you did to Charles." We had not spoken Charles' name since those fateful events a few months ago, but I knew that this was at the root of much of Edward's worsening attitude.

Carlisle nodded slowly. "He does not. Though if I had to make the decision again," he said, giving me a reassuringly glance, "I would do exactly the same thing."

Though I had expected him to feel the same way--after all, Carlisle was several hundred years old and hardly acted out of impulse--I felt the same glow of emotional warmth I'd experienced the first moment I'd heard what he'd done. Though he'd doomed me initially, he'd also done whatever he could to save me, including sacrificing almost three hundred years of stringent self-control.

"So what shall we do?" I asked him.

"I know Edward would ask that we . . ._relinquish_, perhaps, our efforts to get to know each other better. He would ask that we retain a friendship only." Carlisle broke off then, and his eyes met mine, and I was devastatingly aware of how alone we were and of how vulnerable I was to the growing power of these feelings inside me.

"Would you cede to him?" he asked, voice totally calm and devoid of any inclination he felt one way or the other. He was leaving it up to me, I realized. He wanted me to speak up, and confirm or deny that the possibility of _more_still existed between us. I wished I could lie to him and shake my head, putting to rest his hopes once and for all, but I found that I could not. Lying to him about William and my daily visits was difficult enough--I could not broach his trust yet again. The very idea of this was so devastating it took me off-guard. When had I learned to care so much about hurting Carlisle's feelings?

But before I could answer, before I could confirm for him once and for all, that the possibility between us had somehow breached the gap between impossible to probable, I heard steps on the porch outside and then the door swung open. Edward was pale, his eyes blacker than I had seen in some time. I wondered, not for the first time, if he was eating enough.

"Isn't this a cozy scene," he sneered, before Carlisle or I could greet him.

I recoiled from the anger in his voice. I was quickly beginning to figure out the quicksilver changes in Edward's mood had everything to do with my proximity to Carlisle when he discovered us together. I could only imagine what he was hearing in our heads now. He must know what I was about to tell Carlisle.

"Edward," Carlisle said, and his voice rang out like steel in the room--hard, unflinching, unbreakable. Permanent. "We have discussed this several times. Your rudeness towards Esme is unacceptable. You _will_apologize to her."

Edward's burning gaze swung towards me, and he surveyed me lazily, almost insolently. "No," he said softly, "I will not."

He turned abruptly and left, his feet pounding on the carpet-covered stairs. Carlisle turned, his expression helpless and lost. I got to my feet and crossed to him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Carlisle looked at me in surprise--I rarely touched him, but I found myself doing so with more frequency, lately--and I said, "It's fine. He doesn't need to apologize." I hated that my appearance in this household was a dividing force instead of a unifying one.

"Yes, he does," Carlisle argued. "I hate that he is rude to you." He paused and then continued. "I'm going to go to him."

I nodded. Carlisle was an honorable gentleman. It bothered him that a son of his behaved so, and he would do whatever he could to convince Edward that such rudeness was unacceptable in any circumstances.

I finished relaying the story to William's grave and sat in silence for a minute, wondering what would have happened between Carlisle and I if we had had not been interrupted. If I had been able to tell Carlisle the words that had been in my heart.

"No," I whispered, my voice echoing in stillness of the cemetery. "No, I would not cede."

The words the hung in the air, the knowledge of what I'd just admitted to racing through my mind. Everything, I was beginning to realize, was changing and evolving and yet, the control over the situation was still mine. The decision, ultimately, was still mine. Carlisle would hold back--forever, if he had to--until I informed him that I was ready.

We would be leaving soon, I knew. Carlisle had begun to look for a new place for us, and he said it could be only a matter of weeks. Part of the sudden rush to move away from this place surely had to do with Edward and his strange, sudden desire to go out alone. Carlisle was afraid he would get into trouble and wanted to be prepared for the eventuality. What he didn't realize was that I was in far deeper than Edward.

The thought had barely reverberated in my brain, my mind still forming the word _Edward_, when I smelled it for the first time.

No, I corrected myself, every nerve ending in my body lighting on fire, when I smelled _her_.

I staggered to my feet, the scent twining around my body like fragrant, seductive chains, pulling me upwards and forward. Nothing in my limited experience as a vampire could have prepared me for her. No amount of counseling on self-control, no amount of morality, _nothing_could have properly fortified me for the struggle as the animal in my nature wrested bodily control away.

I didn't even struggle; I _couldn't_. The scent held me, _Esme_, in near-hypnotic thrall, and the monster pushed me aside like a helpless doll. At that moment, it almost felt as if everything I'd ever known or felt or _wanted_had melted away in the face of my raging, uncontrollable desire for her blood.

I knew for a certainty as my thirst raged that I would never be able to resist. Nothing could exist in the face of such bloodlust.

She was coming closer, and I could see her clearly now. She was young, even a few years younger than me, and pretty--dressed in a faded cotton dress of pale blue. Her blond hair waved in the breeze, sending more of her delicious scent in my direction, and I nearly doubled over in agony.

I clutched at the William's grave in front of me, the stone easily crumbling in my hands and falling to the earth.

"Miss? _Miss? _Are you alright?" The girl, seeing the pain etched on my face even at a distance, had decided that I was in need of help. And I was--just not the kind of help she could provide.

_No,_the monster roared, _she's exactly what you need. What you want. What you crave. What you're entitled to._

_This_, it told me, _is what you are_.

I growled, something low and indistinct and utterly non-human. She must have heard because she recoiled in fear, her blue eyes widening and her sweet blood rushing from her face. Stumbling backwards, I knew she would run the second before she did, and then, I thought slyly, I would _pounce_. The venom pulsed in my veins, filled my mouth and I swallowed compulsively.

But before I could make my calculated move, a blurred body moving so fast I could barely see it streaked into the field and hit me hard--hard enough that I crashed back to the ground, the sound of our stone-like bodies colliding like thunder.

I opened my eyes to see Edward staring down at me, his face hard and unreadable. I tried to struggle to my feet--I could still smell the girl and I _wanted_ her, desperately--but Edward's arm shot out, forcing me back to the ground. He surrounded me like a cage, refusing to budge even when I shoved and kicked at him.

"No," I begged as I pushed against him. He was just strong enough to hold me back, my newborn strength faded enough that I could not best him. "_Let me go_._"_

"And let Carlisle hate me forever for letting you fall? No."

It was madness to lay here, unable to move, unable to reach her before it was too late to taste her, but I knew he would not let me up until she was far from my reach.

When he did finally get to his feet, I sprang up, desperate to find her still, but she was gone.

I could smell the fact in the air even before Edward finally, begrudgingly, helped me to my feet.

"She's gone," Edward said, his voice devoid of the condemnation I'd expected to hear.

"It's not _you_that wanted her," Edward continued. "I know that. It's. . .difficult the first time."

I laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Difficult? _Difficult?"_

Edward said nothing. "Let's go," he said finally. "We need to leave before someone comes."

The monster inside of me was slowly receding, and as we walked back into the forest I felt calmer, more in control. And I began to comprehend the near-miss I had just had.

"You're welcome," Edward said roughly, interrupting my thoughts. "Regardless, I shouldn't have had to save you--or I wouldn't have had to, if you hadn't been where you shouldn't."

I had been waiting for Edward to make a proclamation about where I'd been when he found me. I hadn't tried to hide my thoughts from him since we'd gone back into the forest, and I could hardly have hidden them before, when I'd behaved like a rabid dog.

"You weren't a dog." Edward's voice was still so calm. Collected. Non-accusatory.

"I was," I insisted, bordering on hysteria as the realization of what I'd so nearly done bore down on me. Guilt swamped me and if I could have felt sick, I would have.

"Come with me," Edward said, taking off in a different direction, opposite of the house, running increasingly faster. I couldn't quite keep up, but by the time I reached where he'd stopped, I saw that he'd found and killed a bear. Its neck was helplessly broken, lolling to the side, and fresh blood poured out of the wound.

"Eat." Edward ordered, flinging the bear in my direction. It landed at my feet, the blood spilling onto the forest floor.

I hesitated. "I don't like bear," I said, trying to cover the fact that I no longer found the red liquid stickily pumping out of the gash on the bear's neck at all appetizing. How could I, after what I'd just encountered?

"Eat it anyway," Edward repeated, his tone demanding.

Reluctantly, I lowered my head to the blood and took a mouthful. It tasted even worse than it smelled and I couldn't help the grimace that twisted my features.

"You'll get used to it."

_I don't think so_, I thought, as more blood trickled down my throat.

Edward said nothing, his face impassive, as he watched me. Clearly, he wasn't going to be baited by the thoughts he could clearly hear.

I finished the bear and let it drop to the ground. "Still hungry?" Edward asked.

I shook my head. I was _technically_full, but I'd never felt so unsatisfied in all my months as a vampire. The animal blood had been filling before, but now that I knew a little of what I was missing, it was nothing like what I desperately craved.

"Now you know. We live a half-life--an _impossible_life," he said. His words fell on me, hard and unrelenting, and I knew he was right. Carlisle had picked the most impossible path he could have chosen, and he had held to it for three hundred lonely, isolated years. I was no longer sure, after my near-slip today, that I could blame him for craving companionship and family after living this way for so long.

The trek back to the cabin felt incredibly brief. _Too_brief. I struggled the entire journey on how I would confess to Carlisle that I would have killed that young girl if Edward had not intervened. No doubt, I thought as grief and guilt and anger twisted my still heart, he would no longer see me as he had before. I wasn't fresh and new and innocent and good. I'd be forever marred in his mind, just as I was blackened in my own.

We approached the meadow in which we'd had so many of our confrontations, and Edward stopped abruptly and closed his fingers around my arm, halting our progress.

"You will tell him, Esme." The expression on Edward's normally young, handsome face scared me, and I wondered what he would do if I refused. I had a feeling it would be worse than simply telling Carlisle in my place.

I nodded wordlessly, as his fingers tightened around my arm. "Not just about the girl," he continued, "but about your trips to the cemetery."

I had expected this, I supposed. And it seemed rather foolish to continue, in the face of what had almost happened this afternoon.

"You were lucky I heard you in time. _Lucky_ that I choose to intervene. It isn't safe for you to be alone that way, so far from me and Carlisle."

I knew I couldn't argue with this--after all, I could hardly deny he was right. "I will tell him," I whispered. As he turned to go into the house, I swore I saw a fragment of primitive glee flash across Edward's face and I knew what he believed.

_Carlisle will never forgive you; his days of wanting you are over._

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I stayed on the porch, tucking my legs underneath me, resting my head on my hands, as I waited for Carlisle to come home from his rounds at the hospital.

I wished I could forget so many things about this day, the same way the details of my human life seemed to fade faster with each passing moment I spent as as vampire. The only way I could remember was. . .

Pain pierced me. I would never again sit at William's grave. I could not return. Not for many years, not until the bloodlust that raced through my veins was sated and calm. Internally, I railed against God, if even existed anymore, for cursing everything I touched to death. I was, it seemed, not permitted to enjoy even the smallest comfort in this hellish existence.

Desperately I wished I could forget the siren lure of the girl's blood, but the smell lingered at the back of my throat, tantalizing and torturing me. Even the bear's blood could not eradicate it, or the gnawing, humiliating guilt that threatened to choke me.

Afternoon waned into dusk, and I heard Carlisle's steps as he turned onto the lane that connected our cabin to the main thoroughfare. His feet crunched the ground with a sure, swift determination. He was confident, successful_, upright_.

I remembered Edward's gloating face, and I despaired.

"Esme, what a pleasant surprise," Carlisle greeted me, and I felt his body gracefully move to the step next to me. I could not meet his gaze, and kept my eyes on the ground.

When I said nothing, he spoke again. "Esme, what is wrong? Why will you not look at me?"

I knew if I raised my head, he would still see two golden eyes looking back at him, but I couldn't let him see the guilt that lingered there. I knew very well that my eyes should have been bright, bloody red.

"I've been keeping something from you," I said, twisting the hem of my skirt into a tight knot. "I lied to you."

His hand brushed my cheek, lifting up my eyes to meet his. "I forgive you, Esme. You have to know I would forgive you _anything._"

I shook my head a little, wishing he would not make it so difficult. The kindness he was heaping on me should be replaced by fire and brimstone. "No. I . . .I snuck into the town."

If I wasn't a vampire, I couldn't have felt the almost imperceptible tightening of Carlisle next to me, but his voice was still kind as he asked, "Where did you go? The cemetery?"

I nodded wordlessly.

"For how long?"

"A week. Ever since I got lost, I've been going. I wandered in there by accident."

"But Esme. . ." he interrupted, clearly confused. "You _know_it is not safe."

I raised my head and looked at his impossibly handsome face, the falling light highlighting the god-like curves and planes of his face. Somehow, this moment between us was inevitable, as if I had spent the last nine years since Carlisle set my leg both running away and towards him at the same time.

My fingertips brushed his cheekbones. "It wasn't safe. I knew it wasn't safe. And I didn't care. I didn't. . ._know_ what it could be like."

"You saw a human today." It wasn't a question, but a statement. As if anything else could make me truly face the inhumanity of what I was.

"Edward saved me. He held me down." I almost choked on the words. I both loved and hated him for what he had done. Maybe, I thought, it would have been better to just let me fall off the cliff of salvation once and for all, for me to truly understand what it was like to relinquish that last scrap of humanity.

Carlisle stood up, and I watched as he paced in front of the porch, his face completely inscrutable. _He will tell you now_, Edward's voice taunted in my head, _he will tell you how you have let him down. He will tell you that you disgust him utterly._

"You can't go back. We will make plans to leave immediately and hope the human did not understand what he witnessed."

"She," I clarified, the remembered vision of blond hair and pale blue cotton filling my senses. "It was a girl. A young girl," I added bitterly.

"Esme," Carlisle said, crouching near to me, and gathering my hands in his. "I know what you must think of yourself. To almost kill her . . ."

He did not finish--I was not sure if he even could. I could not. To think I had _almost_killed her was horrible enough; what would I be feeling in this moment if I had not been stopped?

"But you didn't," he finally said. "It was a near-miss, but it was a miss. I will need a week or so to finalize our plans. You will not leave the house except to hunt, and you will go with Edward or I."

_He no longer trusts you_, Edward's voice slyly added. _You betrayed him, and he let you because he loves you._

Love.

An image of William's grave swam into my mind, and I found that I couldn't bear that my last visit was one of such suffering. I had to say goodbye and make my peace with our departure.

"I have to go back," I told Carlisle. "Just once. To say goodbye."

"No." There was no question in his tone. He had let me have too much freedom once, and he did not want to make the mistake again, but I couldn't stop myself. There was only one way I could force him to relent, and I would do _anything_.

"Carlisle, please," I begged. I shifted a little near him, and my hair fell between us, the scent of flowers enclosing our faces in their own universe. I had never been so close to him before, and the adrenaline pumped sluggishly through my veins. The power of my body this afternoon had been white-hot and animalistic; this was sweet and warm and drugging, like sugary syrup.

I could tell Carlisle felt it, because he took a step back. I took another towards him. "Please," I said again, letting my hand drift down his chest, where his heart should have beat strong and true. "Please."

The last year of my life had been a revelation in power--I was stronger, faster, more adept than I could have ever imagined, but this was a new kind of power, and one I was not sure I could control. I was dancing on the edge now, the indecision in Carlisle's eyes fading faster by the moment. I only had to lean in a fraction and . . .my eyes fluttered closed.

"Yes," he said finally, agreeing in a voice that was roughened by a strange, ancient accent. I was playing with fire now, but I found I could not pull back. His arms slid around my body, and effortlessly pulled me even closer to him. And then I realized that the power I'd held over him wasn't mine to direct after all--it had been his, and it had been his all along. Instead of capturing him with it, he'd merely held back until I was close enough to wrap the chains around my wrists.

He kissed me. It was soft and sweet and gentle, the merest grazing of his lips against mine. He hesitated then, waited until I knew what he desired, and then kissed me again. It was swift and passionate, and I would have stumbled backwards if he hadn't had me wrapped up only a breath away from him.

I'd expected a swell of panic, but instead, I was filled with something akin to desire. _No_, I thought, _this__**is**__ desire. I've wanted this since I was seventeen years old._

We broke apart. For a split second, I wanted to pull him back to me, and continue the sweet, drugging pressure of his lips on mine, but I stopped myself just in time.

"You will go one last time," Carlisle said, as if he hadn't just held me in his arms, "and Edward will accompany you to make sure you are safe."

_And to make sure the humans are safe_, I added silently. I'd been right, he didn't trust me anymore, but even worse, I didn't trust myself.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Again, your reviews are so sweet and I feel incredibly humbled by them :) This story, while not enormously popular, has this incredible core of fans that I just adore. I'll take you guys over the thousands upon thousands ANY day!**

**A shorter chapter. . .and a super angsty one. Sorry guys, it had to be done.**

**Thanks to my awesomesauce beta, Trinity.**

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**Esme**

If I had considered the situation around the cabin complex and challenging before Carlisle and I kissed, the atmosphere afterward was unbelievably tense. The moment we walked into the house, it was clear that Edward knew what had transpired between us. His face was set in angry, harsh lines, and his fists hung clenched at his sides. He hadn't even been able to meet our gaze.

"Edward," Carlisle had said firmly, his tone brokering no argument, "you will go with Esme tomorrow to the cemetery. You'll go before dawn and return quickly, with no detours. I'll listen for any strange rumors circulating about the town today, and do what I can to extricate us from this situation."

Edward nodded, his eyes never leaving the floor.

"I'm sorry," I said, awkwardly trying to fill the charged silence between the three of us.

"Of course you are," Carlisle replied smoothly, giving me a reassuring smile. "Nobody expects you to be perfect."

But he was wrong; _I _expected perfection. A potential mate of Carlisle's should be nothing less.

Edward still said nothing, but I could feel his presence nearly vibrating with the desire to speak his mind. I was sure that if we could read Edward's mind instead of the other way around, neither Carlisle or I would like what we'd hear. Yet, he still stayed quiet, and I wondered if Carlisle's lectures on polite behavior had finally begun to sink in.

* * *

I was wrong. Edward had no intention of staying silent on the issue. Instead, he was merely biding his time until we were sufficiently removed from Carlisle before he let me know how he truly felt.

It was the quiet, blackest part of the night, right before dawn began to creep over the horizon. Edward and I met on the landing at the top of the stairs, and he took in my dark attire with a quick nod of his head.

I could hear Carlisle rummaging in his bedroom, readying himself for his shift at the clinic. I wondered if Edward's uncharacteristic silence was due to Carlisle's presence in the house, but as we jogged into the forest, we reached the point where Carlisle couldn't hear us, and still Edward said nothing.

We moved at a relatively relaxed pace, and I felt my mind wander, having been through these same woods dozens of times. Carlisle had not said anything about our kiss the night before, and I wondered if he had thought of it as often as I had. Charles had, of course, indulged in physical activities with me, but nothing I had ever experienced could compare to the sweet, drugging power of Carlisle.

Ahead of me, Edward stopped abruptly, and I was so lost in my own thoughts, I nearly ran into him before I realized that he had come to a halt.

"Could you _please _not think of my _father _in such graphic terms?" Edward sneered as he turned on me, his lip curled into an expression of utter disgust. "Carlisle was a man of _principle _before he met you. He changed you, risked his own soul, despite that you didn't even _want_ to be saved. Then, because you said a few pretty words to him, he further destroyed himself by murdering your husband in cold blood. And now you have wrapped your chains around him even further."

Sick fear curled up through my stomach. How could Edward misunderstand so completely how a relationship between Carlisle and I had developed? I had certainly never _encouraged _Carlisle to kill Charles. The very idea of me using Carlisle as a killer filled me with distaste. How could Edward know the truth of our minds and still be so wrong?

"Edward," I said, attempting to keep my voice calm and even, "do not say such things. You can hear our thoughts; you know you accuse both Carlisle and I unfairly."

He shook his head, a sharp, angry movement. "You're lying," he hissed. "You're lying to me in your head. You've _ruined _him."

I was just beginning to comprehend exactly what Carlisle had meant to Edward before my arrival. With that consideration, I supposed it was somewhat true, albeit in a twisted sense, that I had changed Carlisle. Except that it hadn't been Carlisle himself who had changed--it was instead Edward's impression of him.

"Nothing has to change," I told him, reasonably trying to convince him that this attitude was unnecessary.

"_Nothing? _Why do we have to move then?" Edward's voice cut hard and deep into my own guilty conscience. "Surely, that isn't _nothing_."

He wasn't wrong; I had ruined our time here, in the end, but at the same time, perhaps Carlisle was right. This new way of life was a process. Perfection could not possibly be expected.

"You're right. I made a mistake."

But even this admission didn't calm Edward. In fact, he seemed more incensed than ever.

I wondered that if Carlisle had known of Edward's attitude, he would have still insisted that he accompany me this morning. Perhaps he had known and he wanted us to settle things once and for all, before we had to move on and start afresh in a new place. Truthfully, I liked the idea of starting over, of moving on, of leaving the painful memories and awkward, charged silences behind. I had to try to make Edward see that there was nothing to be gained in being so angry at the change happening around him.

"Edward," I continued, adding a soothing tone to my voice, "please forgive me. I want to try to . . . move past this. The same way we're moving to a different house."

"It's not that simple," Edward insisted, and for the first time I could hear the desolation in his tone. "I can't go on like this. Always having this happen _to _me. I feel devoid of . . ._choice_." His voice was savage on the final word.

I supposed he was right. Just like me, his free will to die had been taken from him. He'd lost everything the moment his mother begged Carlisle to save her son's life, regardless of consequences or cost. She had not had to pay for such a decision; instead, Edward would be paying forever. And instead of simply learning to control his thirst, he also had to learn to block out the cacophony of the thoughts in his head.

He had not had any choice in the matter of my change. Suddenly, he and Carlisle had become a bloated threesome. And Edward knew of every step we took as we danced towards a potential relationship.

"Promise me you'll tell Carlisle you don't love him and you never will," Edward interrupted my thoughts, and my gaze met his in shock.

Carlisle had warned me that this was what Edward wanted, but I had never actually expected that he would request it. The frustration of simply being a pebble floating on a raging wave of actions must have bothered him more than he ever let on. But regardless of this, he had no right to ask this of me.

"I'm not sure if I'm 'in love' with Carlisle or not. . ." I said with hesitation, "but I'm not going to reject the possibility before I know for sure."

"You're in love with him." The words were torn with a savage certainty from Edward's throat. Jealousy, envy and fury warred on his young, handsome face.

I opened my mouth to argue, sure that my feelings were not nearly as involved as Edward thought they were. "You forget," he sneered, interrupting me. "I can read your _mind_. It's nearly as good as reading your heart. You love him; he loves you."

"That means," I said, gritting my teeth together in an attempt to control my temper—I understood and sympathized with the lack of choice that had marked Edward's life recently, but I disliked how determined me seemed to hijack my own—"that you want me to lie to Carlisle."

Edward said nothing. He merely looked back at me with the sneering expression that transformed him from a young, innocent boy to a jaded something else altogether.

"Punishing me isn't going to change anything."

Silence.

I felt the rage building inside me; an inevitable product of the impossible decision Edward was forcing on me. "No," I yelled, "you will _not _take this one happiness away from me. That's all I have _left_. Everything else has been stripped away, both by my own force and by others' will. You will _not_."

Edward shrugged, one simple movement of his shoulders. His eyes were cold and dark—absolutely remote. The guilt of my decision expanded, and if I'd had to breathe I would have gasped as the enormity of it crushed my lungs. As it was, I had no breaths to squash and countless lifetimes to suffer with my own choice. But like Edward, I was tired of having decisions thrust upon me. Tired of being careful, of being _safe_. I was frustrated with the beast inside of me that constantly clawed to get free.

"This," Edward said matter-of-factly, "is why vampires do not live in 'families.'" And he turned, and walked away. Not running—but deliberately walking—_deliberately _telling me that he was turning his back on me and on Carlisle. I watched as his form disappeared into the trees, and I wondered if I would see him again. And I wondered, with a choking, nauseous fear if Carlisle would ever forgive me for breaking his family apart.

I stood for a long time, staring at the precise location where Edward had disappeared. I thought if perhaps I looked long enough that his form would miraculously reappear, the hardness of his features transformed back again into the boy I had met nearly a year before. But he did not return, and finally, I gave up, turning towards the town—deciding to test my fate one last time.

* * *

By the time I reached the cemetery, the light had already begun to crest over the far hills. I hurried across the field towards the grave, knowing that I had only a few minutes before the sun fully rose and I was more exposed than I wanted to be. Before yesterday, I'd been blithe about the possibility of a human arriving at the cemetery while I was there—now, the thought that it could happen again chilled me to the bone. I didn't want to test my self-control like that again for a long, _long _time.

I stopped in front of the grave, and like a fist to the gut, the knowledge that this was likely the last time in many years that I would stand here hit me. I carried my baby's memory with me always, but here was tangible proof that he existed—that _I _had existed.

Saying goodbye felt, to me, like I was breaking the last tie that held me to my humanity. To the rest of the world, I was dead. In fact, I told myself wryly, you _are _dead. Both officially and biologically.

And there was no greater reminder of this than the scent that hit me mere moments later.

I staggered forward, knowing instinctively that it was the girl again. Nothing else could smell so sweet—only the lifeblood that pulsed just underneath her incredible fair, fragile skin.

This time _Esme _lasted a few seconds longer. Long enough to cry for Edward in my head, to scream his name. To beg him to come save me again, to save _her_. And then the demon inside me wrenched the control away, and my vision narrowed and reddened.

She carried flowers in her hand, and as I prowled closer, she looked up surprised. I barely even registered that she gasped, and dropped the flowers. My feet flew across the stones, not caring anymore who's bones I stepped on in my eagerness to taste her. _Instead, Death_, the soulless monster me sneered, was _nothing_. I was immortal; I was _forever, _and I took whatever I pleased as my due.

Today, _she_ pleased me. I caught her easily, quickly. She struggled, but I held her down effortlessly, almost glorying in the sheer strength I could muster. Never before had I had an opportunity to compare my own power with a human's and the disparity was intoxicating. Her head fell back, and I heard the crack as it hit one of the gravestones, knocking her unconscious. She stopped struggling and invincibility surged through me. Bending down, I gloried in the sweet, yeasty scent of her as I brushed the fall of blond hair away from her neck and my teeth tore through that parchment-thin layer of skin to the succulent sweetness underneath.

The first gush of blood from her vein filled my mouth, and I froze. The scent was nothing, _nothing_, compared to the taste I was currently glorying in. It was better than anything I'd ever tasted as a human—better than candy or chocolate or cake. It melted on my tongue, the intoxicating flavor filling my senses. Eagerly, I sucked more out of her, even though I felt her begin to stir underneath me. Every molecule that I was focused solely on draining her dry.

I understood now the vaguely unsatisfied feeling I'd experienced after eating the mountain lions and the bears and the elk. Vampires weren't meant to exist on the blood of inferiors—we were meant to eat like this, to glory in what we were created to consume. The world around me faded to nothing except the drugging pump of her arterial vein and the corresponding gush of blood that passed through my greedy lips.

She was growing cold, hovering, I was sure, one breath away from her final gasp. I knew I was close to draining her, and I could feel nothing except for a primal surge of both disappointment and elation. I never wanted to drink my fill—if only it could go on and on and on. . .

The thought faded as I suckled harder on the ruined mess of her neck. Blood spattered my arms and the waves of golden hair that fell away from her head like sheaves of wheat. But before I could take that one last, horrifically final pull from her neck, an arm reached out and wrenched me off her. I fell back and assumed a crouched position, the adrenaline thrumming through my fully-sated veins. I was ready to fight for that last glorious mouthful. _How dared anyone interrupt my meal?_ I thought crossly.

As I looked up at who had interrupted me, the world tilted, the red tint of my vision lightening until I could clearly see the golden hair of both my victim and my rescuer.

_Carlisle_.

A thousand thoughts rushed into my head, like a tidal wave, but each one held the same gist: _murderer, killer, sinner, demon. . .monster_. Esme, it seemed, was back with a vengeance.

I swallowed convulsively, the last of the blood trickling down my throat.

Carlisle looked up at me then, and I knew I would see that look in his eyes forever—if I could have dreamt, I would have seen it in every nightmare. There was pity and agony. . .and _revulsion_.

For me. To him, I had just committed the most cardinal of all sins. I had given into my baser nature—the weaker half of myself. The side he had always managed to avoid. _I was right_, I thought with a choking, hideous despair, _he deserved better_. And I? I deserved _nothing_.

The look was gone from his golden eyes in a mere moment, but the split second of its existence was enough to permanently imprint it in my memory. I knew I would never be able to forget, and I knew then, with a horrible certainty, that Edward had indeed been right. _I was in love with Carlisle_.

"Esme. Quick. You must decide." His voice carried over the roaring of my thoughts—the thoughts that screamed at me that I had discovered how very much Carlisle's opinion meant at precisely the moment when it was certain he'd never see me the same way ever again.

"Decide?" My voice felt gravely and unused—thick with guilt and blood.

"She is a breath away from death. We must kill her. Or let her change."

"Not dead," I whispered. "_Not dead_."

"But close," Carlisle said firmly. "She will begin the change soon."

I looked down at the halo of blond hair around her head. She was young and pretty. Dressed in a shabby, well-worn, but immaculately pressed blue dress. The same one I had seen her in yesterday. The flowers she'd been carrying lay on the ground next to her body. She'd been carrying them to the graveyard. She'd come yesterday, and she'd come again today, and she'd done it first thing in the morning. I crept closer and saw the bluish circles under eyes were not the fault of my thirst, but were instead the indelible mark of grief.

_The girl could have been me_.

I knew what I had to do, but I was not sure I was strong enough to do it. To kill this poor child in the middle of my feeding frenzy was unforgivable enough—to kill her in hideously cold blood was somehow worse.

But, if I did not, she would be _exactly _like me. In three days, she would wake up, and we would have the same blood red gaze, the same unearthly pale, perfect skin, the same strength, the same speed, the same ethereal beauty.

She would adjust, adapt, move on from her human life, just as I had done. But, as I stared at her youthful, ravaged face, I knew I could not let it happen. Better, I decided, to live my own eternity in perpetual hell for what I had committed than punish her for my own folly. She deserved respite and peace.

I shook my head at Carlisle. "No," I mouthed almost silently. "She cannot. . ._cannot_ be like us."

He'd been crouching next to her, and at my words, he rose to his feet and made a small gesture at the form, as if he was inviting me to partake of tea or a nice glass of sherry. I shuddered at the thought, my hands shaking, tearless sobs overtaking my body. Carlisle was right—this was my act to finish. Not his.

I knelt down at the girl's side, and I let my hands drift down her face, closing the lids over her blue, unseeing eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "So sorry." And I wrenched her neck, snapping the spinal column cleanly in two. It was over.

The sun rose over the hill, then, in a unholy mix of red and orange and yellow.

"It is done," Carlisle said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "She is dead."

Except that it wasn't only her that was dead. We were both dead, in that moment, except that she had found the peace I had always wanted, the peace I had _craved_, and instead, I was forced to spend eternity fruitlessly searching for what I had so selfishly bestowed upon her.

And as I looked down at the small form, I couldn't help but wish that she was _me_.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Thank you for everyone's lovely reviews. This is a few days late, but it's such an important chapter I wanted it to be absolutely 100% right before I published it. **

**Also, thanks to my awesome beta, Trinity, and also to Andrew for his awesome moral support so I didn't slit my wrists after writing this.**

* * *

**Carlisle**

I knew Esme was going to leave us. I'd known it from the moment I stopped her from draining the girl dry- I'd known it the second the hard crack of the girl's neck had echoed throughout the empty graveyard.

Esme's ties to us were fragile at best, and regardless of the specific reason she used, the fact that she would depart seemed inevitable. I stopped going to the clinic, and simply sat at home, awaiting the moment she would seek me out to say goodbye. I hesitated leaving the house because I was deeply afraid that she wouldn't even make that last gesture and she'd be gone the moment I turned my back.

But instead of leaving, she sat in her room, making no attempt to depart. She did not approach Edward or I and we did not approach her. I hadn't had the courage to ask Edward what she was thinking; maybe, I'd thought with a fatalistic dread, it was better he not know. Surely, with his own mental state, it would be better if he didn't have to experience the utter depression Esme was suffering through.

Edward had stayed, after all. I'd been shocked at how close he had come to deserting me. I'd known, of course, that he was struggling with the closeness developing between Esme and I, but I had never imagined that it would push him so far away from us. Instead, he'd hung back as she went to the cemetery, far enough from Esme that she would never know he was there, but close enough that he could intervene should the worst happen. He had heard her call his name, and had run to me in the clinic. I had arrived, I'd initially thought, in the nick of time.

I'd been wrong.

The girl was dead, and the fault lay with all of us. Me with allowing Esme to manipulate me into giving her too much freedom, Edward for focusing on himself instead of on the family who needed him, and Esme herself for striking the fatal blow.

I knew Esme would exclusively blame herself, but with time, I hoped she could see the situation with clearer eyes. We had all contributed, in our own way, to the death; the blood was on all our hands, but only Esme had to bear the stigma in her eyes.

A week passed, and my restlessness grew. Esme never left her room, and I became increasingly desperate to see her, to talk to her, to even know what she was thinking. Perhaps, I reasoned with myself, it was only fear that made me so sure. Perhaps she would not leave us after all.

But then, just when I had begun to rationalize my deepest worry away, Edward appeared at my door, having apparently decided to do me one small favor.

"She is leaving tomorrow," he began, staring at the floor, not meeting my eyes. "She's been fighting with herself these last few days, but it was inevitable. She feels she must go."

"Inevitable. . ." I repeated, almost choking on the bitterness of the word. At one point, I had thought that love between us might be so, but instead, the only inevitability between Esme and I was pain and death and loss. I remembered a thousand times I had wished I had never changed her; if wishes could transform into reality through sheer desire and will, Esme would be human again.

"You can't stop her."

"I know." Esme had never listened to me. Most sires held a much greater sway over their "children," but such power had never existed between Esme and I. And if it did exist, it was not power derived from blood and venom; it was instead Esme who held me in thrall, bound with velvet chains of desire and longing and hope.

"You love her, and you will not even try?"

I shrugged, and looked up at the man who stood in front of me—for he was no longer a boy. "You say it is impossible. You say she will not be swayed." I knew Edward did not lie to me now, more because of Esme's character than Edward's. I was no longer sure what he was capable of.

For all the difficulty Edward had had with the growing relationship between Esme and I, to my surprise, this final end did not seem to sit well with him. "But you will be. . ." Edward paused, as if he was trying to find the right word to describe my mental state,". . .unhappy."

It was impossible to deny; Edward could see the very depth of my soul. He knew how strongly I felt for Esme. He knew what I would do to keep her—and what I would sacrifice to set her free.

"You were not unhappy before, though," Edward continued, his expression puzzled. "But you will be now."

"Edward," I sighed. "To have loved and lost is. . .exquisite torture. But we welcome it regardless, because it teaches us the depth to which we can feel. It shows us that we are still human. I would not trade this time with Esme, even if it means that my simple contentment is a thing of the past."

Edward said nothing, and I continued. "You will understand in time, I think. Perhaps when you are older and fall in love."

He shook his head slowly. "No, I don't believe I will fall in love. Love is. . .not for one such as me."

I knew he was wrong, but this was neither the time nor the place to argue the point. I rose to my feet, the chair creaking underneath me. "I will go to her," I said, feeling as if the words would stick in my mouth. "I will say goodbye."

And as I left Edward standing in my room, even though I knew he had stopped admiring me after Charles Evenson's death, I thought I saw a glimpse of respect in his eyes. Esme might not know, I thought, how difficult this was for me, but Edward knew. Edward would always know what this would cost me.

* * *

**Esme**

I had to leave the next morning, before I could change my mind again.

I had spent the last seven days arguing with myself, trying to justify my own selfish, foolish desire to stay, to further trespass on Carlisle's good graces, but I knew that the time had come for me to leave. Once, I had thought I would stay here, stay with him; once, I'd thought that maybe I could make a home, a family, with Carlisle—with Edward. But I knew better now.

There was an monster inside me of that would rear its ugly head, and I couldn't bear to stay and let Carlisle make exceptions and excuses for me. We were both technically vampires, but Carlisle--and even Edward--had an iron-clad sense of control and purpose that I seemed to lack. I could not stay and endanger and ruin their lives with my inability to subdue the darker side of my character.

If I needed any reason to further believe, the way both Carlisle and Edward left me totally alone since the girl's death would have convinced me. But I'd made up my mind, I told myself, and I would go. At any time, Edward could have seen my purpose, and he could have stopped me--but he did not.

But still, even with the decision made, I found I could not shake off the devastating lethargy that had overtaken me since the first fury at my weakness had faded. In my self-loathing, I'd methodically destroyed the lovely lines of the Queen Anne dresser, shredding it into pieces as if it wasn't wood, but fragile pieces of the finest bone china. Then I'd fallen on the bed--that bed into which I'd poured every ounce of my hopes and dreams, and yes, my love.

Guilt swamped me as I glanced at the ruined mess in the corner, but I couldn't look away. The now faded gleam of the wood seemed to represent everything I'd ruined since leaving home and marrying Charles Evenson. My choice of husband was undeniably poor, though nothing could have prepared me for how terrible his temper truly was. I'd left him, hoping that the baby inside me would be safer away from his abusive ways, but instead, I'd stranded myself in a tiny town with no money to pay for a doctor when he became sickly. I'd killed him, I realized with flash of pain, just as easily as the illness had. Maybe if I'd stayed with Charles, somehow enduring the petty humiliations and the beatings, William would never have died.

My worst error in judgment, and the sin I would be paying for until the end of time, was the moment I'd stepped off the cliff. I'd thought to simply end it all; to escape the narrowing bars of my depression. Instead, I'd been doomed to an unending half-life with a demon inside that craved everything I couldn't bear to feed it.

In short, I thought with a growing sense of harsh inevitability, everything I'd touched turned to ash. Why should I be so surprised, then, that the relationship I'd begun with Carlisle, and even my friendship with Edward, had crumbled in my hands? I needed to get away, to find someplace where I couldn't have any expectations of myself--and where nobody could possibly expect anything of me.

I stood up, turning my head away from the ruins of the dresser, and glanced around the room, wondering if I should take anything with me. As a vampire, I found we needed very little in terms of material comforts, but I hated to leave everything I'd used to build the nest around me. I hated to not take something of this life that I'd craved so desperately.

A knock sounded on the door and I froze, my body going unnaturally still. It was Carlisle. His distinctive woodsy scent drifted through the wall, and I wondered if Edward had heard me make my decision and that was the reason for Carlisle's sudden and timely arrival at my door.

I said nothing, but the door opened anyway, swinging open wide, and revealing Carlisle standing there, alone. He stepped into the room behind me, and shut the door with a solid, decisive click.

"You're leaving." He said it matter-of-factly, as if mattered little to him whether I left or stayed. Despair clogged my lungs and made it impossible to force words out so I simply nodded.

Carlisle's expression shifted into resignation, and it hit me like a blow to the chest. He was not even going to try to change my mind. I'd been mentally preparing for the difficulty I'd have in persuading him to let me go; but in the end, it appeared that he felt the same way I did--I was a liability not worth the effort.

Even though I'd come to that same conclusion myself, the fact that Carlisle had too, hurt. Had it been just days since we'd kissed and I'd come to believe he loved me? It felt more like decades.

Humiliation warred with the welling despair inside me and I turned away, knowing I couldn't hide the play of emotions on my face and not wanting him to see the havoc that his appearance had wrought on my composure. I'd delayed leaving for a week, hoping that when this moment came, I could be better prepared mentally for having to say goodbye to the man I loved. As it turned out, no amount of preparation could have made this easier.

"Where will you go?"

I shrugged. I hadn't thought that far ahead. I supposed one of the benefits of not requiring food or sleep was that I wouldn't need much. I could travel endlessly if need be.

"You could go to Italy." Carlisle's voice was deceptively casual. I knew that was where he wanted me to go, and since my own list of possible destinations was nonexistent, I decided there would be no harm in asking why.

"There is a class of ruling vampires there--the kings of our kind. The Volturi. They will keep you safe, teach you what I couldn't."

There was only one thing that Carlisle had never taught me to do.

"They drink human blood." It was amazing to me that my voice didn't waver once. If it sounded the way I felt, it certainly wouldn't have come out so prosaic--as if drinking human blood were to be expected. Even after all my months as a vampire, that essential fact about us still filled me with self-loathing; even more now that I had tasted it.

"Yes. I stayed with them for a time; they know me. They will protect you. Shelter you. You are beautiful; they will like that." Bitterness tinged his voice, and I wondered if he felt jealousy towards these other faceless, nameless men who would look on me and think similar thoughts to those he had once had about me.

If I could not turn and face him before, the idea of doing so now was impossible. Regret swamped me and flung me overboard into a sea of agony, and I pressed my face into my hands, wishing desperately that I could cry and release the pressure building inside of me.

"Esme, look at me." I ignored the edge of desperation in his voice. After the last week of self-recrimination and of seeing the look of revulsion in his eyes day and night, I couldn't bear to. He should know that well enough.

I felt him move closer to me, until he was nearly touching me. But he did not. The reason why was painfully obvious and couldn't have echoed louder in the room if I'd screamed it.

"I'm sorry, Esme. Sorry that you had to go through it alone; sorry that I wasn't there. Sorry that I didn't do more to keep you safe."

"Me safe? I'm an impenetrable fortress. You should have kept her safe." My voice broke.

"What I'm trying to say is that it isn't all your fault."

"I killed her. That makes it my fault," I said bitterly. "Besides, fault is kind of unnecessary. I'm leaving; that's what we all want."

"Is that what you want?" Carlisle's voice was deceptively calm. I wondered if he was enjoying this moment; enjoying the culmination of my suffering.

"No." The word was nearly wrenched from my chest. How could he think that was what I wanted? Especially after our kiss? I loved him--but of course, he did not know that. He could not know that.

Silence filled the room with a suffocating tension. Finally, I couldn't bear it any longer and I glanced back over my shoulder, knowing with a certainty that he was still there, but wondering why he said nothing.

The expression on his face was devastating, and I knew then that his calm exterior had all been a carefully constructed mask; he looked as awful as I felt. "But you . . .the way you looked at me," I whispered. "Like you hated me."

The words stretched between us tautly, and Carlisle took a single, relenting step towards me. "No. No. Not you. I could never hate you, Esme. I hated myself, for creating you, for making you like this. I gave into the temptation first." He reached out a hand and his fingertips lightly brushed my cheek. I trembled, wanting so badly to melt into him, to feel all those things that I had decided over this long, lonely week that I could never have.

I wondered which was worse--having loved someone as inherently good as Carlisle and lost him or never having loved him at all. That, I thought as I stared into his unearthly golden eyes, was the issue facing us at this moment. I could go and leave and never really know what I had lost, or I could reach out and grab my own little piece of happiness, even though I would have to relinquish it mere hours later.

I hesitated, torn between what I should do and what I wanted to do, but in the end, the decision wasn't mine. Deep down, I knew I would take whatever Carlisle would give me. I was like an addict, vaguely distrustful before that first potent, intoxicating taste of what we could be like together. And so, when he reached out to me, his hands steady and sure and his eyes determined, I relented, folding my body into his.

I felt no fear, no hesitation, nothing but an overwhelming sense that this was right--and that was why I'd felt vaguely repulsed every time Charles had laid a finger on me. He had taken me as if I was a possession to be marked as his, regardless of what I needed or wanted. Carlisle's touch was reverent, but not unsure. He wanted this, and though he was gentle as he slid his hands up my body, I could nearly smell the desperation emanating off him.

He lifted me up in his arms, and laid me on the bed that he'd predicted one day, not so long ago, that we'd someday share. But of course, he had never imagined, I was sure, that there would be such a bittersweet edge to both our first time and our last.

Pleasure snaked through me, building as Carlisle shredded the clothes off my body just as easily as I'd demolished the dresser. Except, I reminded myself as we kissed deeply, I wasn't going to think about that. I was going to take this night, this brief moment of pleasure in what I was sure would be an everlasting hell without him.

He was beautiful--nearly radiant--though as he paused above me, there was a brief flash of unendurable agony in his eyes, I knew how he felt. Emotional pain and physical pleasure swirled inside me as he closed the final distance between us. I buried my head in his shoulder, undone by the overwhelming need raging inside me.

"Esme," he murmured into my ear as he wound his free hand through my hair, pulling me even closer into him, meeting him, "I love you." I fell off the cliff for the second time in my life and even as the pleasure swept me away, I felt that distinct sweet stab of pain in the vicinity of where my heart lay still.

Nothing, I was sure, as we drifted back to reality, would ever be the same again, and if I could have wept, lying in the arms of the man I loved, I would have.

* * *

We lay still for what felt like hours. Strangely, I felt no modesty; only that I wanted to be as close to him as I could for as long as I could. But the moments ticked away, inevitability leading to the conversation neither of us had ever wanted to have.

"You will go to Italy," Carlisle finally spoke. "Promise me, you will go." His arm tightened around me, and I knew he was struggling with letting me go. Just as I was struggling to leave this bed, and him.

I could not deny him; and after all, he knew I had nowhere else to go. It was his final gift to me--somewhere that where I would be safe, even if it was not with him. "Yes, I promise."

"Will you say goodbye to Edward?" Carlisle asked, as I felt his tense body relax at my answer.

I hesitated. Was there nothing easy about this? A son had left me once; I was now going to have to leave another. For Edward, as much as he had struggled with my presence in the Cullen household, was my son. Saying goodbye to Carlisle was going to be hard enough. I wasn't sure I'd be strong enough to do it twice over.

"He loves you," I said. "Keep him with you."

"I will try." Carlisle sounded resigned, as if he had failed already, which I supposed, he had. He'd never intended to let me go, and here we were, discussing my imminent departure.

"Promise me," I said. We would be tied to each other still, if not through love and happiness, then at least through our promises to each other.

"I promise."

We lay for a moment longer, but I knew the moment had come. I shifted, only to have Carlisle tense again. He knew.

I prayed, desperately hoping that he would not beg me to stay. I could do anything, I thought grimly, except listen to him plead with me. He needed to stay strong, for me. So that I could do this.

Finally, I pulled away from him, the pain surging through me at the loss of his body next to mine.

"Wait," Carlisle said, and I froze. He reached down and handed me a sheaf of papers and a leather billfold. "For you."

I looked at him questioningly. "Traveling papers. You're officially dead, remember? And money," he clarified.

I should have known Carlisle would do this. His sense of obligation would require it.

"No," I said firmly, pushing the papers back into his hands. "No."

Carlisle's eyes closed briefly, shuttering over his frustration and the agony of this goodbye. "I would do right by you," he whispered. "That was all I ever wanted."

"I know," I said leaning down, and brushing my lips one last time over his. "Don't blame yourself. Promise me."

He shook his head. No. "You will not accept my help," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from my cheek, "and so I feel within my rights to say that no, I will not refrain from placing an equal amount of blame on myself."

I turned away, and dressed in silence. I could not look at him; it hurt too much. Finally, the moment came when I could no longer delay; a moment so similar to the one I'd had months before, poised at the top of a cliff, ready to take a leap into the unknown. Except this time, I knew exactly what it was that I was losing.

"Carlisle," I said, wrapping my arms around him, "be safe. Be happy."

"And you, Esme."

And the unspoken words hung between us in the air. _I love you._


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: So sorry the update on this is later than usual. I was writing the story for the winner of the latest Support Stacie Auction I participated in. It's complete, and an AU of Twilight, with a few neat (at least I like to think so) twists. Check it out, it's called Undisclosed Desires.**

**A few of you questioned why Esme would leave if she loved Carlisle and/or why he would let her go. In a nutshell, neither feels that they deserve the other, especially Esme considering what she has just done. Carlisle also feels as if they may have a future together, but he needs to let her go and hope that she comes to this conclusion on her own. He doesn't want to make the choice for her--for the first time he is leaving it up to her. That's why he doesn't stop her.**

**Thanks to my beta, Trinity**

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**Esme**

There was nothing. No pain. No agony. No soul-splitting torture at the loss. I was numb; blessedly, single-mindedly numb as I left the cottage at the edge of the town and ran into the unknown.

The pain, I knew, would come later. It would well inside and torment me in waves, but for now, I felt nothing. Perhaps it was an inevitable self-preservation, or maybe even the only way I was able to leave him and that life that we had so joyously begun to construct together. I knew now that the life had only been a façade—it had never been real or true. The only reality was the desperate, crawling loneliness I felt as I struck out into the unknown.

I ran for what felt like days. I didn't keep track; I couldn't. But I did hide during the daylight hours, finding deep forests and caves. I ate bears and deers, gorging myself with the vague hope that the reddish tint of my eyes would fade sooner so that when actually confronted with a human life, I could pass as something other than a freak of a nature. But deep down, I knew it was useless. I'd condemned myself to this half-life when my teeth had sank into the skin of the girl. From that moment on, this was my destiny.

I traveled at night, running unseen through the empty streets of small towns, sometimes even venturing into the bigger cities, but staying away from anything human. I was becoming more and more accustomed to the smell of human blood and I'd taken no more lives, but I did not want to test my self-control by coming too close.

I passed state lines, traveling almost aimlessly, yet moving inexorably, relentlessly east, the only idea driving me was the last thing Carlisle had said to me—_Italy_. It was like a mantra, a prayer in my head. I had no purpose; only his last words. Without them, I would have been utterly lost.

And without him, there was no joy, no spark, no desire to seek out new lands or new experiences. I existed only because I had no other choice, and so I moved forward, day after day, listless and empty.

Once in a while, I caught the scent of what could have been something not human, maybe even another vampire, but I avoided those scents even more assiduously than the humans. I wanted nothing to do with anyone; I only wanted to be left alone to my misery.

After what must have been a week of traveling, I finally reached a point where it was becoming more and more difficult to avoid humans and the larger cities. The day I crossed over the Pennsylvania border into New York, I knew I was reaching the point where I would have to make a decision. At that moment, I felt extremely foolhardy for refusing the papers and money that Carlisle had tried to provide me. Without them, how would I be able to cross the ocean? Staying in North America wasn't a choice—I felt the undeniable need to move as far away as possible from what I had known. Maybe then, I could feel something.

And there was also Italy. I needed to go to Italy. To Volterra. If only because I had promised Carlisle and that promise was nearly the only thing that kept me moving forward.

I gorged myself on bear and lynx and deer the night before I entered New York City, and not because I wanted to make sure my eyes were as light as possible. I wanted to do whatever was in my power to make sure I hurt no one else, though I had begun to wonder if perhaps it was inevitable. I _would _kill again. I would have to. The seeds were there, deep inside me, dormant for the time being, but they existed. It would be foolish and utterly impossible to deny them.

New York was too big to be silent, even at the darkest, deadest part of the night. I forced myself to walk slowly, at a human pace for the first time since I'd left Illinois. I knew my clothes were bedraggled and torn, smeared with mud and maybe even animal blood. But under the cloak of night, I hoped I would look like just another bum, not worth any attention. Besides, where I was going, I didn't think I would stand out too much.

The air around me grew thick and heavy with salt as I neared the bay. My greatest fear, besides losing my self-control, was that I would come to the city and there would be no ships in port, nothing scheduled to sail away. I knew I could hide for a period of time, but I knew it would not be safe to hide for too many days before a ship sailed.

Dawn was close when I neared the docks, and to my immense relief, a huge ocean liner, its purpose to traverse the mighty Atlantic, sat anchored in the harbor. I hid in the shadows, my ratty coat wrapped around me tightly not to prevent the cold from affecting my impenetrable body, but to hide myself from view, and watched as rough looking men loaded cargo into the massive holds.

I could hear them distinctly, as I did, and I confirmed that indeed, the RMS Majestic II would be sailing in the morning, at dawn, bound for Calais. All that remained now, I thought, glancing at the muddy ground at my feet, was to find a way to sneak on the ship—though I had a feeling with my new speed that wasn't going to be so difficult—and then hide for the length of the crossing. I wouldn't need to sleep or eat, so that eliminated the need to find an unused cabin, though I could admit to myself that whatever place I did manage to find in the bowels of the ship wasn't likely to be excessively comfortable.

A tiny part of my brain whispered that the very last thing I deserved was comfort of any kind. After all, because of me, a girl was dead. She would never be comfortable again, and the idea of me crossing the ocean in luxury was too much for my conscience to bear. I resolved that when I snuck in, I would find some place to hide in the huge, dark cargo bay. Surely that would be a safe spot for me during the length of the crossing, and that was what mattered—safety, not comfort.

The men took a break nearly at dawn, huddling around small bonfires, trying to warm their icy hands. I took advantage of their weakness by speeding past them, nimbly picking through the maze of boxes and crates, so fast their eyes could not see me. I raced up the loading dock and made my way to the back of the cargo hold. Finding a hidden corner, I sat down, relief coursing through me. I was safe and so was the crew; I had managed to get onboard without hurting a single soul. Now, I thought with a sigh, it was time to wait. I would have days and days to sit and think and brood over what had happened. Except that was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to say numb, cold and indifferent to the trauma, and in this place, sitting for days on end, I knew the pain would overwhelm and overcome me.

I bent, folding my body in two, my head resting in my hands, and I lamented for what felt like the thousandth time in my new life, the inability to cry and simply the release the tension that wracked my body in spasms. I only wanted to be able to expel this hideous choking despair from my heart, but instead, it stayed within me, growing and morphing into an ugly, dead mass.

From a distance, after what must have been hours, I heard the men close the door of the ship, the sharp metallic clank echoing through the cargo hold. I was now essentially trapped; though I reasoned that there had to be some stairs somewhere that would lead up from the belly of the ship to the upper decks. If I wanted to explore, I could, but fear and misery kept me rooted in place. I felt the great engines roar to life, stoked by the dozens of men hired for the express purpose of keeping them full of coal, and then with a great groan, we pulled away from the dock.

I'd always wanted to take an ocean voyage, I thought idly, as I stared at the markings of the crate in front of me, but I had never imagined that I would be taking one like this, a vampire stowed away in the cargo bay.

What felt like days passed, my brain growing idle with nothing to occupy it. I stretched my legs occasionally, running quiet laps around the open space between the crates. I read some of the labels, my mind wandering sometimes to the exotic faraway locales where the cargo was bound. But mostly, I sat and forced myself not to dwell on Carlisle or the last hours of our time together. If I thought of the kindness and passion in his eyes, I would drown in it, and there was very little keeping me afloat any more.

Humans never came down into the bowels of the ship and so I grew lazy and complacent. My guard dropped until it was nearly nonexistent. More days passed. I figured we were perhaps in the middle of the Atlantic now, steaming relentlessly towards the European coast.

I told myself later that it was the roar of the engines that prevented me from hearing him approach, but perhaps it was also my own fatalism that decided I no longer cared what or who happened to me. After all, there seemed to be very little to care about anymore.

I smelled him too late.

I cried out in panic at his sudden scent, so like Carlisle's and yet so completely different. _Not a human, _I realized with an abrupt clarity, _a vampire_. Like me. I raised my eyes, my crouched position making it difficult to see him clearly as he knelt in the shadows, obviously not wanting to reveal himself until the final moment of his approach.

It was a man. He was tall, with long sandy brown hair tied back with a leather thong. He had red eyes, so unlike Carlisle and Edward, but so like me. Here was a man who could be my kin, if I was looking for any, which I most decidedly wasn't. I was finished with trying to fit in, unless by some miracle, I could find some place with the Volturi.

"Peace, my friend," he said quietly, his deep voice still resonating around the cavernous space. "I come in peace."

His face was young, but there was an aged quality to it, as if he had lived in it for a long time. He was an older vampire, that much was clear, and if he had not come in peace, then perhaps I could have ended my existence on this earth all the more quickly, because I would not have been any match for him.

He walked closer, his feet making almost no sound on the floor. His expression gave nothing away, but then he smiled, and white teeth shone in his face. He looked... kind. Which was nothing that I had expected.

"You are a newborn. Why are you alone?"

I straightened, suddenly and inexplicably ashamed by my ratty, torn clothing. Self-consciously, I brushed the hair out of my face, and looked back at him with eyes that were identical to his own. "I left my. . .sire." I was not sure what to call Carlisle. He had been more than a friend, but not quite a mate either—and barely a lover, though I was not going to divulge that particular piece of information to this strange vampire.

"You are alone then." It was not a question, but a statement, and I had a feeling that he had not approached me wondering; he had known I was alone. Otherwise, his introduction would have likely been quite different. His eyes were kind, but the coiled, tense power in his body told me that he could be dangerous if he chose. Even to one of his own kind, but especially to humans. His eyes glowed bright, crimson red even in the darkness of the room. There was no doubt he fed from exclusively from humans.

I nodded.

"How long since your change? A year?"

"Not quite."

He looked at me closer, his penetrating gaze taking in every single detail of my travel-stained clothing, my muddy shoes, my unkempt hair. "And you have no money or travel documents."

"No." I wanted to tell the vampire that I had been offered both, but I had turned them down in a fit of independence and stupidity. Otherwise, I would not be hiding in this cargo hold, dirty and bored.

"It is odd to see a newborn here," he said. "Even odder to see a newborn alone, with no battle scars. You were not created to fight?"

My startled expression must have told him all he needed to know because he continued, without my answer. "Your sire should have kept you with them, and taken care of you. It was very foolish to let you out on your own." His voice was stern, unforgiving. He clearly had made up his mind about Carlisle with only the situation I was in as evidence, and my heart rebelled. This was not Carlisle's fault and I could not let one of our own kind think so poorly of him.

"He tried to keep me," I stammered, wondering if this was even the truth or a lie. He had indeed stopped me from leaving him from my change up until the girl's death. After, he had seemed perfectly satisfied with relinquishing me. "He tried to give me money. Papers. I turned them down."

The male vampire shook his head, the golden strands in his ponytail catching the light of the distant swinging light bulbs suspended from the elevated ceiling of the storage compartment. "I gather he was an unacceptable sire."

"No," I argued vehemently. "He was more than adequate. He tried to protect me... but I... I..." My voice broke and I looked down, at the floor, loathing my own weakness.

Silence stretched between us, and I could not look up and see the judgment in the vampire's face. I knew enough from the words he had spoken that I was in a vulnerable and difficult situation—I did not need to see his expression to understand that explicitly.

"I am what you would call a nomad, I suppose. I prefer to travel alone. Covens make me nervous. But, you need the guidance and support of a fellow traveler. I would offer you companionship and my help. Where do you go?"

I raised my head, shocked at his words. He met my eyes with a frank and downright friendly gaze. He seemed... rough but kind. Kinder than I had expected.

"I go to Volterra."

He nodded. "I know the way. I have spent time there. It is a good place for one so alone."

Pain lanced through me at his words. Loneliness had swamped me during my solitary journey east and my self-imposed embargo in this godforsaken storage area.

"So, shall we go together?" He offered me his hand and another wide, reassuring smile.

I nodded slowly, surprising myself. I told myself I only took his help because without it, I was unlikely to be able to travel to Volterra—and that was what I had promised Carlisle that I would do. His words must be honored and my own promises to him kept.

I stood, but declined to take his hand. I did not want to touch another man; not after Carlisle. To do so felt sacrilegious. "I'm Esme," I said, as I took a step towards him.

"I am known as Garrett," he said.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: oh my god, I'm so unbelievably sorry this has taken so long. . .again, there are a ton more excuses I could offer (moving, a new job, tax season, etc etc etc), but I won't. I will simply apologize for leaving Esme and Garrett poised on the brink of a friendship. We see them move closer towards it in this chapter. And yes, I fully intend to finish this. I hope to start updating much more frequently again.**

**I've based a lot of the interior of the ship on real pictures that I've found. I couldn't find any of the actual ship I selected (this ship _did _exist and the route it travels was real), but I did look at a number of pictures of the Titanic (which was during this same time period) and several other ships. And yes, the first class staterooms did have bathrooms, though I didn't ever see private balconies. Maybe those only evolved on the modern cruise ship, but if that's the case, then I just stole them. Sorry :)**

**If you're still reading. . .awesome. Enjoy!**

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**Esme**

Once the decision was made, Garrett moved swiftly. I followed him as he ran up the many flights of stairs to the first class deck. There was an unspoken agreement between us that I could not be seen by anyone—my clothes were torn and dirty, stained with dirt and blood—and so we used the advantage of our inhuman speed to prevent any unnecessary questions.

I'd never spent time with a vampire who embraced his inhumanity so completely and I wondered as we moved towards his room if any of the humans around the ship were in immediate danger. I didn't know how frequently vampires who lived exclusively off human blood had to feed, but Garrett took a back route, melting through the hallways like a hot knife through butter, and we saw no humans.

Our flight was so quick that I did not have time to even register the sumptuous appointments of the hallways in the upper decks, and only as the door to Garrett's suite shut behind me, did I open my eyes and truly look at the splendor that surrounded me.

The walls gleamed dully with gold paper, intricately and ornately embossed. I took in the heavy Louis XVI furniture upholstered in red velvet and felt my feet sink into the carpet. Even the beauty of the antiques that Carlisle had purchased for me were nothing in comparison to the luxury around me now. Garrett must have noticed my somewhat surprised expression because he chuckled, a dry laugh full of ironic amusement.

"I would be perfectly happy in the storeroom, downstairs, like you, but the privacy is nice. And convenient," he admitted, and then paused, glancing at my disheveled appearance.

"Would you like a bath? I can also see if the steward can get you some new clothes."

I nodded, grateful that he was being so kind. With the difficulties of the last few days hanging over me, I had not noticed or even cared about my outward appearance. I wanted to believe that my apathy was routed in the stress of traveling to New York and finding appropriate transportation across the Atlantic, but deep down, I knew better. With the loss of Carlisle, I had simply lost the will to care what I looked like.

But Garrett's appearance had seemingly jerked me out of the miasma of grief that had held me in thrall, and now I was moving and talking and _living_.

Except, I reminded myself, there was no living—no life. What I had left was an existence only.

"That would be lovely," I said, my voice feeling rusty from disuse. I wondered briefly if I should make excuse for my appearance—maybe even an apology—but decided against it. Garrett was, as he himself had admitted, a nomad. He had to understand. There were no bathtubs or mirrors or clean clothes in the valleys and hills I had just run through.

"The bathroom is through there," Garrett explained, pointing towards a gilded door, next to the bed, which was hung with red velvet canopies. It looked pristine, as if it hadn't been touched since it had been last made—which I was sure it hadn't been. Quickly, I glanced away from the bed, but not quick enough for Garrett to miss the direction my eyes traveled. He chuckled again, the sound low and gravely. "No, no need for me to use the bed for quite some time—or for you either."

I was sure if I was capable of blushing, I would have flushed bright red. But as it was, I just smiled hesitatingly, hating all the while how inexperienced and naïve I felt next to his world-weariness. No doubt he would tire quickly of my gauche behavior and it would no longer be quite so amusing.

My backbone steeled itself and I moved towards the bathroom, grasping the carved gold handle firmly in my hand. I glanced back at Garrett, who had already turned towards the door, apparently ready to give me the privacy I needed, and to fetch the clothes he'd promised.

"Thank you," I told him. Fear and insecurity swirled inside me, but I kept my voice firm and clear. Even though I knew it was irrational, I didn't want Garrett to know any of what I felt. Telling him would mean relinquishing the iron control I had over the agony of hopelessness and self-loathing, and so I held on, tightly, and closed the bathroom door behind me with a decisive click.

As the water filled the porcelain tub, I could smell the iron tanks it had been held in, the stench swirling through my mind, the rusty scent reminding me far too much of the girl's hot blood in my throat. I swallowed convulsively, pushing down my distaste and my revulsion, sinking into the tub. The water, no matter what it smelled like, _felt _heavenly and as I relaxed into the steaming bath, I began to feel almost human again.

With an eternity, I had lost all concept of time, and it could have been ten minutes or an hour before I heard the front door open and close again. Instantaneously, I tensed, before I remembered. _Garrett_, I thought, _with the clothes_.

He knocked on the bathroom door mere seconds later. I sank down lower in the tub, tension making my muscles ridged as he entered. He didn't look at me once, but merely set the clothing down on the stool in front of the vanity. "There wasn't much choice on size, but I do hope these fit."

"Thank you, again. For everything. You didn't. . ." Suddenly, emotion choked me. He had rescued me when I hadn't even known I'd needed rescuing. Vampire or no, he was a good man.

As Carlisle had been, I reminded myself, and I swallowed away the wash of pain at his memory.

Garrett turned now and looked straight at me, his face serious. "Yes, I did. It is not our way to leave a newborn alone, unprotected. Directionless."

I wanted to ask him what he meant by this, but he turned abruptly and left, the door shutting behind him. As I sat back in the bath, I felt strangely torn between wanting to stay here forever, locked away, trapped by the sorrow in my heart, and wanting to leave the comfort of the warm water, and find out exactly what Garrett had meant.

Was I really so "directionless?" I supposed, as I finally lifted myself from the water and wrapped the plush towel around myself, that I was. What did vampires _do_? I knew Carlisle worked in the hospital and practiced medicine, but surely this was unusual. Edward had told me that he only managed to be around the human blood after centuries of practice. What did other vampires do with an eternity of time?

Another question, I thought as I sorted through the pile of clothes that Garrett had left, for my new companion.

Surprisingly, the clothes fit perfectly. They were much finer than anything I'd had either in my life as a human or when I lived with Carlisle after my change. I'd been unused to my strength, and during our hunting trips, I'd been forever tearing and staining what I wore, so I'd insisted that Carlisle stick to plain cottons and simple designs.

But these were fine—the dress was silky to the touch, and a beautiful eggshell white, sprinkled with a dusting of lilac flowers. The undergarments were equally beautiful, complete with touches of cobweb lace.

I dried my hair as best as I could with the towel, but damp tangles still hung limply around my face. Glancing around for a comb, I saw none. I tried to push my fingers through the wet locks, but they were still too tangled from my long sojourn in the woods. Giving up, I gave myself one more look in the mirror before facing Garrett again. I definitely looked better, but still, I thought with dismay, too rough around the edges. Though my skin was the pale flawless marble of a vampire, I could almost see the strain behind it—the gauntness that stretched it just a bit too tightly over my facial bones.

I'd avoided looking in the mirror straight on, despairing of seeing my red eyes, but I forced my gaze up now. _This_, I told myself with as much determination as I could muster, _is what you are_. _No more hiding; no more pretend. Only acceptance._

Garrett was staring out into the pitch black night through the porthole when I exited the bathroom. He turned to face me, his expression smooth and empty.

"Thank you. . ." I said again, for what felt like the hundredth time since he had brought me from the oppressive loneliness of the storeroom below, trying not to feel too ridiculously self-conscious.

My hands awkwardly smoothed down my silken skirts and to my surprise, he smiled. I'd learned enough about him, about his mannerisms, to know that he did not give his smiles easily. He was serious and contemplative and quiet, and though it might be naïve, I trusted him not to betray me.

"The clothes fit well," he said, crossing to me, and stopping mere inches from my suddenly-tense body. I wasn't used to men standing quite so close, especially strange men. "Better than well. You look lovely, Esme."

The mirror didn't lie. I knew my face and form were beautiful, and that this was hardly unusual for a vampire. _We are beautiful_, I remembered Edward telling me, _so we can mesmerize and lure—but it's only a mask._

Another recollection crashed into my consciousness; but instead of my almost-son, this memory was of the girl who's life I had squandered in a whirlwind of greed and hunger.

"Surely," I said, taking half a step backwards, "you're used to seeing beautiful vampires."

Garrett shrugged minutely. "I told you; I'm often alone. I rarely have traveling companions, vampire or otherwise."

"Oh." I wondered if he regretted offering to travel with me. "I see."

"That being said, I _do _see vampires, but there are less of us than you imagine. Only really a handful, spread across the globe like scattered chaff. We rarely make others."

This was a surprise to me, and the shock of it pulled me out of my ever-constant miasma of unrelenting grief. "But. . ." I almost stuttered, "Carlisle. . .he'd made _two _of us."

The very stillness of Garrett's expression told me all I needed to know; this was very unusual behavior, indeed. "You and who else?" he asked in clipped tones.

I hesitated only briefly, wondering if I was betraying Carlisle's confidence and trust in me by spreading the information of his private affairs to other vampires, but then I decided that we had abandoned each other and so the lack of honor was appropriate.

"Edward. He had been changed perhaps two years before me."

"But your sire. . .Carlisle. . .he was not a fighter? He didn't create you to fight in the wars."

I shook my head. "Not in the least. He was a doctor."

This time the puzzlement showed clear and plain on Garrett's face. "A _doctor_? You mean, he was a doctor _before _he was changed into a vampire."

"No. He _was _a doctor. _Is _a doctor, to this day. He worked in the clinic in the town. He'd trained himself for years, for decades, not to react to human blood."

Wonder crossed over Garrett's face. "I have over a hundred years as a vampire, and though I like to think my control is strong, I do not think it could withstand such pressures. How old was he, your sire?"

I disliked the way that Garrett continually referred to Carlisle as my "sire"—as if there were some sort of undying, everlasting bond between us that could not be broken by time or distance or even betrayal. "Over three hundred years old."

"And he made both you. . .you _and _this Edward. Did Edward have a gift? Do you?"

While I had had very little compunction in discussing the other particulars of my life with Carlisle, I hesitated now. I had gleaned from my conversations with both Edward and Carlisle that the former's gift was rare and could be seen as extremely valuable to powerful vampires. So I shook my head. "No. No gifts."

Confusion creased Garrett's brow. "Then why? Why would he make both of you? If not to fight, and if not to gather gifted vampires?"

This was a question I had asked myself many times. Edward's change, I'd thought before this, had always made more logical sense to me than my own. Carlisle hadn't been lonely, hadn't been devoid of company, and he'd already had his hands full with another newborn to train in the ways of his kind. He hadn't needed—couldn't have _wanted_—another. And yet, he had plucked me, a breath away from death, from the gurney at the clinic, and had pushed me back into existence.

Garrett stood, almost abruptly. "Would you like to see the balcony? It's another benefit of the first class stateroom—privacy with the fresh air."

"That would be nice," I said uncertainly. I could sense Garrett was burning with questions and curiosity. He wanted to know more about Carlisle and about my time with him. I had never really considered how unusual Carlisle must have been compared to other vampires, but it was becoming clearer to me that he had stood almost completely apart from the norm.

I followed him to the balcony and we stood on the private deck, the wind streaming through my hair, drying it and blowing it around my face. Likely, any humans would have found the chilly air blowing off the Atlantic Ocean unbearably cold, but we both stood in perfect comfort, absorbing the beauty of the dark sky and its blanket of stars.

In the silence between the ocean and the stars, I told Garrett about my confusion of my own origins. Why _had _Carlisle changed me? Why had he changed Edward? If he had such strong feelings about his own soul that he would forsake the very foundation of his own existence, why would he force not just one human, but _two_, into such a life?

I was sure that Garrett could hear the ragged burn of the love that I held for Carlisle in my voice, but he said nothing. Finally, when the ravages of the story had died into the velvety dark night, he spoke.

"You ask why he changed you. . .you should know, Esme. You _do _know. You pretend ignorance to yourself." He turned to face me, the moonlight gleaming off the gold strands in his chair and lighting the chiseled planes of his face. "You underestimate your own value."

The sudden intensity in his gaze surprised me, and I took a stumbled step backwards. "I don't know what you mean."

"You speak of a time when your sire met you, when you were young and he saved you. You felt drawn to him, almost compulsively. Yet, you do not believe that he felt the same way."

It was true; I had never considered the possibility that I had held the same attraction for him that he'd held for me. He had been, after all, _designed _to elicit the reaction he'd pulled from me so effortlessly. Garrett reached out and brushed a hand gently down the waves of hair that tumbled around my face, wild from the wind that swirled around us. "I suppose. . ." I stammered, then stopped and regained my composure. "That _is _true."

He had changed me because he wanted a mate. He had wanted _me _as his mate. And then, he had let me go. The two facts made no sense when taken together, and I was so tired of trying to make them fit. I tilted my face up towards Garrett. "Does it bother you?"

He laughed; deep and rich and full. "Esme, my dear, you are _very _beautiful. You told me that I'd no doubt seen many beautiful vampires, and yes, that is true, though you are by far the most beautiful I've ever seen, but no, your affection, your _love_, for your sire does not bother me. It hardly signifies."

"I don't understand."

"Unlike the humans, who spend nearly every second of their brief existences, searching for love, we vampires have eternity. We have the prerogative of _waiting _for love. No seeking required."

"Oh." Garrett _was _fascinating, I could not deny that, but at the same time my heart and my mind were full of Carlisle and I couldn't imagine even an eternity dulling the sharp edge of agony that cut through me whenever I thought of him. I would never stop wanting him. Garrett could never replace him in my heart. Perhaps, I thought, feeling the faintest stirring of hope somewhere deep down, I could learn to care about him. If I felt for him even the tiniest percentage of what I'd felt for Carlisle, maybe it could be enough.

"We'll start at the beginning," Garrett said. "You need to be introduced to the Volturri."

"The vampires in Italy," I clarified.

"Not just _any _vampires in Italy," he said. "_The _vampires in Italy. The rulers of our kind. They will definitely want to meet you."

"But I have no gift."

Garrett slanted a quick laughing look in my direction. "Again, I repeat myself: you underestimate your own charms, my dear. They will be very glad indeed to meet a vampire such as yourself. Do not worry. I will protect you."

"Protect me?" I didn't understand why I would need protection from vampires that Carlisle had specifically requested that I visit.

"They are. . .powerful. Voracious. Greedy. They take what they will. And if you do not wish to be taken, I will protect you." Garrett's voice was matter of fact.

"You don't know me," I said flatly, confused as to why he would offer such a boon to a woman he had just met.

"After the time I've spent on this earth, I understand more about human nature than you can possibly comprehend. No, I don't know _you, _specifically, but I see the possibility in you. And that's enough for me to pledge my support and my protection. It may not be necessary, but you should know that it exists between us."

Not for the first time, it struck me how upright and honorable and true this vampire was. Everything, I wondered, that we had always been told that vampires were not. He, I decided, was like Carlisle in that he was _different_. He was a vampire, but he had not let his definition define him.

"Then I accept it. And I offer you my thanks." I extended my hand and he clasped it gently in his, the strength of his grip pulsing just under the surface of his skin. He lifted it, brushing his lips across the palm, and I smothered a quick gasp.

His eyes crinkled with amusement. "As I said, we'll start at the beginning."


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: **Thanks to all my WC buddies, who made it possible for me to finish this chapter and actually update this story. Only a handful of chapters left (3 or so? maybe an epilogue?), so that's exciting--at least I think so. After this finishes up, I have to confess, I'll be going back to AH. Vamp fic is fun, but hard.

Thanks also to my amazing beta, Trinity :)

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**Esme**

The beginning was just that—the beginning of an entirely different existence. I'd thought that waking up in Carlisle's cabin at the edge of the woods had been the dawn of a new life, but I'd been wrong. _This_, this new existence that I had come to share with Garrett, this was new. There had been changes with Carlisle, but Carlisle, by his own admission, fit his vampiric urges into a human mold. He was a vampire living best as he could as a human.

Garrett was a vampire who lived as a vampire. Just as I'd thought that first night in the mirror, facing my red eyes straight on, he took what he was with no excuses, no guilt, no feebleminded attempt to pretend that he was anything different than he was. It was difficult for me to reconcile both sides of his character—the vampire who would gorge himself on human blood with the man who always made sure I was perfectly dressed and comfortable and _safe_. He was unfailingly kind and never rough with me. He had a sly humor and a capacity for intelligence that left me breathless at moments. Carlisle had been brilliant, but I realized as I came to know Garrett, he was also naïve about the world. There was a reason he'd shut himself away and denied the very foundation, the very _core_, of who he was, it was his inability to face the reality of his existence.

I tried desperately to emulate Garrett as we traveled across the Atlantic, but I could never quite hide my own disgust at my hunger. By the time we reached Calais, I could face drinking at the artery of a human who was already nearly dead from the violence of Garrett's thirst, but I could not kill one in cold blood.

I had in hot blood, I thought almost ruefully, as I watched Garrett pack our belongings from my perch on a comfortable chair in our suite, but not cold. I still had not singlehandedly taken another's life since the girl that day weeks ago in the forest.

Garrett never pressed me, never said a single cross word about the extra precautions and arrangements he had to make so that I was comfortable with my food, but I knew it was not easy. He said, every time I protested, that I would learn in time, and that there was simply no hurry.

That was another thing I had learned about Garrett—he was never in a hurry, or rushed, or even the slightest bit impatient. He'd reminded me the one time I'd observed this out loud that as immortal creatures, there was no earthly reason to rush; we had, after all, all the time in the world.

We'd been sitting in front of a fire, one long lazy night, taking a break from reading, when I'd said this, and he'd looked at me long and hard from under his lashes. Firelight had played over the hard curves of his cheekbones, and in the gold strands of his hair, and I'd not been able to deny feral beauty of him. And the expression in his eyes had been speculative—as if he was _waiting_.

That was the first night I'd suspected it, but now, a week later, I thought I knew for sure. He was waiting for me to fall in love with him.

I'd told him enough the very first night we'd met so that he should have realized that I'd been in love with Carlisle—_was_ in love with Carlisle, but clearly he believed that with enough time, I would consider the emotion fleeting.

Over a month had passed since I'd left Carlisle, and though the pain had begun to dull to an ache instead of a intense burning agony, I still believed that it would never fully heal. My heart was cracked, and though it might partially repair itself, I knew that it would never be whole again. I was damaged goods, and the sooner I was able to convince Garrett of this, the better. I loved him as a friend, and a companion, and I could never possibly repay him for the kindness he'd shown me over the last weeks. He'd saved me when I hadn't even realized how lost I was, and even now, I was just beginning to realize that without his guidance, I'd probably have ended up in an untenable situation. Still, I could not, and _would _not let him think that in time I could accept him as a lover. That part of my life was simply over.

However, it was not easy to bring up the subject. I had tried, on a number of occasions, but he'd simply shrugged off my clumsy attempts at rationalizing with him—going as far as to say that I was imagining things. He hid it well, but I knew I was right.

Curled up in my chair, my legs tucked beneath me, a book lying unread in my lap, I knew I had to try again before we went to shore. The interlude across the Atlantic was ending, and we were about to embark on the second leg of our journey. Garrett had said that we would be taking the train to Volterra, because going on foot was impractical and tedious, not to mention dirty, and horses weren't necessarily thrilled to carry such carnivorous cargo.

"When you said that you would protect me from the Volturi, what did you mean?"

Garrett looked over at me, his eyes like red marbles in his chiseled face. "You shouldn't worry. Nothing is going to happen."

"You wouldn't have said you would protect me if there was no danger," I persisted. "You said it for a reason. I simply want to know what your reason was."

Garrett was quiet and I could discern nothing from his expressionless face. As much as I did enjoy his companionship, his ability to hide even the most fundamental, basic emotions from me when he chose to was infuriating.

"I wish you would tell me," I pleaded, aware that a note of fear had crept into my voice. Garrett had only spoken on the Volturi with a mixture of awe and respect, and I had learned enough of him to know that he had very little respect for either humans or other vampires. There was something significant about these ruling vampires in Italy, and I desperately wanted to understand what it was.

"As I said before, they are voracious. They take what they will—regardless of personal desires. They are strong, powerful, and gifted."

"Gifted?"

Garrett sighed and turned towards me. "Why the insatiable curiosity? I have already given my word; no harm will come to you while we are in Volterra. They will not be allowed to lay a finger on you."

"If they are so gifted, how will you prevent them if they try?" The fear was evident now, and though I was ashamed of it, it was bubbling along my veins, swamping my ability to keep it hidden.

His face grew hard. "You will have to trust me on this. And not just marginally—you will have to trust me completely, implicitly."

"And this will be necessary?"

He added the last of my clothing to the black leather valise. "I pray it will not be. But the Volturi are notoriously unpredictable. It is hard to say _what _will be necessary."

We disembarked in the cool rainy port of Calais. It was dreary—the sky a blanket of clouds, so we were able to travel as any other passenger might, walking down the haughty, first class gangplank, as the third class massed around the single exit. Garrett wore a pair of darkened spectacles to hide his eerie red eyes, and I wore a black hat with a tiny fingertip veil, dark enough to prevent any but those standing closest to see my own peculiarity.

Garrett was protective, holding my gloved hand tightly in his, as we walked down the ramp. I had become more used to the scent of human blood, and the horrible, animalistic urges at their scent had begun to significantly fade, now that I was eating the food that my body craved so desperately. I wondered now if Carlisle had simply given into fate and had let us feed from even _dying _humans, if that girl would have been alive today. If I'd been well fed, I knew I would never have carelessly taken her life.

We went directly to the train station, and were immediately led to a private car that Garrett had reserved for us. He carelessly tossed out what must have been an enormous tip to the busboy, who shut the door behind us. Garrett, I thought as I watched him rummage through our baggage for a book, was nothing if not consistent. He spent money as if he would never need any again, and it slipped through his hands like water. He lived each day and looked neither back nor forward. I'd decided I could learn a lot from his attitude, but had had trouble emulating his _laissez-faire_.

I had not asked where the money came from for the luxurious suite on the ship, or for the exclusive private car or for my undoubtedly expensive new wardrobe. The money simply appeared, and I was not foolish enough to think that it was honestly earned. I shut my eyes and leaned my head on the back of the red velvet seat. There would be no point in insisting that Garrett stick to a human-like sense of morality. He wasn't human; I could not expect him to act like one.

And I, I reminded myself, was the same as him. It was high time I tried adjusting harder to this new life and stopped comparing it to the time I had been with Carlisle. That had been a different world, with a different code that was not motivated by reality.

The train's whistle blew and as it left the station, I had to force myself to relax. Garrett knew what he was doing; he had been to Volterra before, after all.

And, I silently added, watching as French countryside flashed before the window, if it wasn't safe, Carlisle never would have extracted the promise from me.

* * *

**Edward**

After Esme left, it grew quieter. The distractions in my head lessened, and at first I thought it was because now I only had to contend with blocking Carlisle's thoughts, but as time passed, the days turning into weeks, the weeks into months, I realized it was gradually becoming even more quiet. I had learned to mostly ignore Carlisle when I wasn't trying to listen, so I was surprised when I turned my "ear" towards him one evening and discovered that his thoughts were almost completely silent.

He had not said anything about this to me—and then I realized that we had said almost nothing to each other for days. Maybe even weeks. Besides the necessities of living and the occasional polite platitude, we had not spoken.

Pain had nearly radiated out of him after Esme had left, but I had never thought that he would stop thinking entirely.

I resolved with determination to speak to him when he returned from the clinic—and this time I wouldn't only be speaking to him because I had to. I needed to make sure he knew that, as his son, I was there for him to talk to. To confide in.

Carlisle returned from the hospital at 11 that evening. Typically, I could hear him from a great distance away because his mental voice was so clearly distinct, after so many hundreds of years. But this time, when the door to the cabin opened, I nearly dropped my book in surprise. I had not heard him approach.

For the first time since Esme had left, I looked at him, and _really _looked. A wave of guilt nearly swamped me. True, Esme's leaving had not been directly my fault, but I could not help but shoulder some of the blame for her disappearance. And now I could see him fading in front of me, his entire being consumed with the grief of losing her.

His eyes were ravaged and hollow, mere shells of their former selves, and he gazed listlessly around the room, not seeing me or maybe not even caring to.

"Carlisle," I said, standing up and crossing the living room floor to greet him. He barely looked up; barely able, I realized, to acknowledge my presence. "How was the clinic today?"

He gave the briefest of nods, and his head jerked as if on a puppet string. "It was good." His voice too, was ravaged. Dead. I strained to hear his thoughts, and they were muffled and quiet, almost slurred with exhaustion and hopelessness.

"Excellent, I'm glad to hear that," I said, forcing a cheerfulness I did not feel into the words. "I was about to go hunting. Would you care to accompany me?"

His head shook, that forced, puppet-like jerking again, and the fear inside me grew. I could not bear to watch him waste away in front of me because I had done everything I could do make Esme go.

I took in the hollow, dead eyes, the paste white skin, and the sluggishness of Carlisle's thoughts and came up with a conclusion. "You haven't been eating," I said calmly. "You need to go with me tonight."

Though nothing I had said so far had gotten his attention, this did. His head raised and he looked faintly annoyed, as if I had discovered a secret he hadn't wanted me to find out. "I'm fine."

He moved towards the stairs and I blocked him, my quickness paying off in that I reached the foot of the staircase fractions of a second before he did. "Edward," Carlisle began, but I grabbed his arm instead of listening. And that was when I knew. The thoughts nearly shouted at me, angry and insistent in their intensity. The raw anguish was like a bolt of electricity to my system and I clenched down on his wrist.

"You are going with me," I repeated. "Do you know I can barely even hear your thoughts anymore? You're killing yourself by not eating."

"That's not why you can't hear me. I. . ." he paused and I could feel his struggle as he sorted through his thoughts. "I block it out of my own mind. It hurts too much."

"I don't care," I said shortly. "You're eating. Tonight."

I pulled on his arm, sure that he would be able to resist—that he _would _resist—but instead of the firm solid force that he usually possessed, he felt empty and weak. "Either go with me willingly, or I'll drag you."

Carlisle sighed and I saw the capitulation on his face. "If you insist," he said graciously, as if he were inviting me to partake in a ten course gourmet meal.

I followed behind him, not trusting him to evade me at the last possible second. We made our way through the forest at a much slower pace than I was used to, but unsurprisingly, Carlisle did not have the ability to go much faster. I wondered how long it had been since he ate, and how he had possibly avoided the urge to kill anyone while he was at the clinic.

Abruptly, though, he stopped, and I heard his thoughts go very still, very silent.

"I can still smell her here," he whispered, and I wondered if he had begun to hallucinate because try as I might, I could catch no scent of Esme here. She had not been in these woods for months; there was no way her fragrance could have lingered so long.

"You doubt me," Carlisle said, his voice growing stronger, surer. "But I know. I would know it anywhere."

"Because you love her." Once I had been angry about this very fact. Once I had rued the day that Carlisle had brought her home, her body broken and mangled from her intentional fall. Once I had been jealous of her power over Carlisle. Now, I only felt pity for the man who had been left behind to mourn her.

"Yes." He said nothing else, and turned to go. I caught a whiff of a deer, and hoped that he was going to catch it. He did, moving through the trees, almost lazily, as if he did not care if he caught it or not.

I knew then that I had to say something. Only I could tell him that Esme's anguish at leaving him had been acute, and it would not have been if she didn't love him. And if she loved him, why in God's name were they continuing this preposterous exercise of staying apart?

I watched as Carlisle caught the deer, and gracefully brought it down. His teeth tore into the neck and blood spattered across the forest floor. I had never wanted to admit this to the man I considered a father—never wanted to admit my own selfish weakness—but I knew this could not continue. He had to know the truth.

"When I came to you and told you Esme was leaving, I asked you why you did not stop her."

Carlisle's head did not move from the deer's neck but I continued, loathing every particle in myself that had driven me to such a desperate action. If I had cared enough for my family, the girl Esme had killed would not be dead today and she would she still be with us. "You said she would not be swayed. You were wrong."

I could hear every sound of the forest. The beat of bird's wings in the sky above the trees. The wind rustling through the leaves. The crack of a tree branch breaking. But Carlisle said nothing, and I forced myself to go on. Even if Carlisle wanted nothing to do with me after this moment, I told myself it would be worth it because the truth would burn away all the guilt and anger and hatred that pumped sluggishly through my veins.

"I lied."

I saw the deer slip limply, dead, from Carlisle's hands, and he turned to me, something unholy burning in his eyes. Something terrifying, truth be told, but I was only relieved that there was _something _besides death and grief in their depths.

"You lied." His voice was remarkably calm, considering the rage I could hear in his thoughts. He _hated_ me, hated what I had done, but he... he... _understood_. Even as he hated me, he loved me.

"You are my family," he said, as I listened to the convoluted trail of his mind. "I'm angry that you lied, but I would never abandon you. Not as you abandoned Esme."

I forced my temper in check. We had both abandoned Esme, but I had done it maliciously and purposefully—he had done it because he thought he had no other choice.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but he held up a hand. "Edward, not now. I... I need some time. When I'm ready to hear it, you can and you _will _apologize. And then we will go find her."

I returned to the house at the edge of the forest alone. I was alone for seven days, my mind wakeful and alert for even the slightest hint of Carlisle's thoughts on the breeze. I heard nothing. And then on the morning of the seventh day, he returned, his mind loud and bright and relieved. He had purged the anger and the sorrow and the hate from his system and when he opened the door into the house, he smiled at me. "Shall we go find your mother, Edward? She is sorely missed and I do believe she needs to come home to us."


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: I promised a quick update, but who knew it would be that quick? (well, I did but that's besides the point). Yes, only two chapters left + an epilogue! Yay!**

**Thanks to Trinity and JosieSwan, who read this whole thing all at once so she could give her opinion on this chapter. Yes, ladies and gentleman, that's a hell of a lot of angst.**

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**Esme**

As we traveled from France to Italy, I felt a strange sort of restlessness growing in the weft of my skin, in the very marrow of my bones. I didn't see what kind of compensation Garrett gave to the conductor, but we stopped every night, ostensibly because I was "delicate" and needed to sleep in a real bed. What the conductor and the rest of the train didn't know was that every night, instead of using the fluffy white beds in the inns we stopped at, Garrett and I roamed the countryside.

I'd never been to Europe, and even though I had to take in all the sights in the darkness, I couldn't have enjoyed our expeditions more. We would run and stretch our legs, our bodies flashing through the blackest part of the night, mere shadowy wraiths reflected on the stone walls of the great chateaus of Southern France, with our feet skimming over velvet lawns and fields filled with lavender and rosemary and thyme.

I'd never felt more alive in all my years—or more dead. Garrett was a wonderful companion, charming and sure and careful. A consummate gentleman. But no matter how sweet and kind he was, how selflessly he behaved, I grew more convinced as each day passed that he could never possibly replace Carlisle in my heart. I missed him terribly, and Edward too, and I couldn't help thinking, as I stared out across the broad expanse of the Mediterranean Ocean, near Marseilles, that I was both the betrayed and the betrayer. Carlisle should never have permitted me to see this without him, and yet I felt it was wrong to see it with Garrett by my side.

In the darkness, I learned more of what a vampire was. We caught bandits, men that smelled of homebrewed liquor and cheap perfume and Garrett killed them as I forced myself to watch. In the night, I became someone new, someone completely different from Esme Cullen. I became the darker half of her, the half that could delight in the hot pulse of blood in the throat.

In the clean glare of the sunshine, I would regret my precipitous actions, but the danger and excitement was like a flare in the blood, and I felt myself slipping farther into the madness and thrill of the hunt.

By the time we reached Nice, near the border of France and Italy, I knew that Garrett had begun to understand how far of a path he would have to travel to earn my love. He said he would wait forever, but I could feel the impatience rising in him like a wave as one night he tried to take my hand as we stared into the crystal blue water of the Mediterranean and casually tucked my hand away in a pocket, where he could not reach it.

I waited for the day he would ask me about Carlisle, but he said nothing, not until the evening before we reached Volterra, almost a week later.

Night had just fallen, coating the leaves of the lemon and orange trees in the courtyard of our inn with a velvety blackness. The scent of the fruit in the air was intoxicating, and I paused for a long moment, breathing in the incredible aroma. Garrett stood close by, watching me as intently as I sniffed the breeze. "Are we close to the ocean?" I asked, scenting just the barest hint of salt in the air. I had begun a rather intense love affair with the water, and had insisted that we travel as close to it as possible. Every night we could, I liked to take that direction in our travels, feeling as I would never get enough of hearing the surf crash on the rocks. I'd grown up in a landlocked state, and had never seen the water before I'd left Carlisle, and something deep inside had been waiting, buried, for that first glimpse of azure blue water. The ocean had an endlessness that stirred a kinship in me. Both me and the ocean would live forever, and neither of us had a choice in the matter.

"Close enough, " Garrett replied, and as always, there was never even a hint of annoyance in his tone. He was _always _amicable, always composed, always kind. It made me want to do something to rattle him, to rile him. To make him hate me.

"Shall we then?" I asked, keeping my voice as light and carefree as I could. I didn't want him to hear the undercurrent of restless and dissatisfaction that was running through my veins. It wasn't fair to him that he wasn't the man I loved.

Heat began to pulse deep within me as we ran. I wondered when I'd begun to yearn for the moment when we spotted a worthwhile sacrifice to our hunger, and I shuddered at the perversion of the thoughts that filled me. There was no more anger at what I'd become; only a vague, dull ache of acceptance. I couldn't fight this, not on my own, and not when Garrett so sweetly, so carefully, did everything he could to ease me gently into this new life.

I saw the shadow of Garrett ahead of me, a wraith in the dark, moving swiftly and efficiently, his long legs carrying him over the ground, instead of across it, his hair streaming behind him, glimmering in the moonlight. He stopped almost abruptly, and I fell in line beside him. "Do you see someone?" I asked quietly. He said nothing, but turned towards me, and for the first time since I had known him, I saw something _real, _something honest, sprawled across his features. He was. . .sad.

"Tell me, Esme. Tell me there is no hope." His voice was low and gravely, and I felt pity that I should have to hurt this man and fear that if I did hurt him, he'd leave me the same way Carlisle had.

"I want you to tell me the truth. I deserve that much, at least." Wretchedness flashed across his face, and I knew how much it was costing him to finally speak. In the morning, he would wish it unsaid, the same way I wished the men we killed weren't dead. But we were creatures of the night, not of the clean bright daylight, and so I answered him honestly.

"I loved him. Hopelessly. Completely. Utterly."

He said nothing for what felt like hours, standing so utterly still that I thought perhaps he had turned to stone. "The first moment I saw you, I knew what it was to be alone. To never have someone at my side. To be lonely. I'd never felt it before, not really. And now I know—and what it will feel like without you."

I thought of Carlisle and of how much I loved him, and how much I had wanted to make a family with him—and I ruthlessly pushed the feelings aside, forcing myself to really look at the man in front of me. He had always seen _me_, the real Esme, and had pushed me to see her too. Never too hard or too far, but he had shown me the possibility of the darkness that lay within her. Maybe he had been trying to show me not just the truth of myself, but the truth of how me and him were similar. Carlisle had an inherent goodness that went bone-deep. When I'd left, I'd begun to suspect that I could never equal it, but now I knew, thanks to Garrett, that I did not even have the capacity for it.

Garrett, on the other hand, _understood_. He saw inside me, the light and the dark, and he loved me despite that. I felt the last vestiges of Esme Cullen begin to fall away and I reached up and placed a hand on his chest. "Give me time please. Give me time to make this right between us. I do want to give you want you want."

His big hand curled around my littler one, and we stood there, still and quiet, for a long while, absorbing the sound and feel of the night around us. "Esme, I was not totally honest with you," Garrett finally murmured. "You have been so truthful, I feel as if I must tell you what preys on my mind."

I nodded, urging him to continue.

"Tomorrow, we arrive in Volterra. We will meet the Volturi. They will want you—"

I interrupted him, my voice sharp. "You don't know that for sure."

Garrett looked down at me incredulously. "They _will _want you. Have you never looked in a mirror? You are the most beautiful vampire they will probably have ever seen. They _will _try to take you."

"And if they do?"

"I will stop them. By telling them you are _mine_."

I tensed. Suddenly this plan seemed dangerous. Terrifying. Why were we going to the Volturi again? Surely Carlisle would not have suggested I travel there alone, if this was so.

As if he'd read my mind, Garrett continued. "I'm sure that Carlisle had every intention of finding you again, which is why he told you to go somewhere where he knew he _could _find you. Volterra would be the perfect place for that. But I'm afraid the Volturi will claim you. So, to prevent that, I will have to claim you first, Esme."

I was sure I was staring at him with an intensely shocked expression on my face. "Claim me?"

Garrett's other hand circled my waist and he pulled me close to him. "Yes. If they smell me on you, they will not fuss about taking you for their own."

His eyes pleaded with mine, begging me to give him permission. I closed my eyes in surrender, and gave a short nod. I felt the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt as he moved even closer, molding me to his body. He felt safe and good, and if I had never been in Carlisle's arms, I would have thought that this was wonderful. But I could not help but compare, and I could not help but find Garrett lacking some miniscule _something_.

His lips brushed mine with great restraint, and yet I could sense in the tremor of his hand on mine that he longed to do more. I could feel the passion and desire for me pumping off him in great waves and so I pushed Carlisle out of my mind as much as I could, and bowed to the inevitable.

The kiss was nice at first, sweetly romantic and tender, but as his mouth moved against mine, his passion grew and mine only seemed to fade. No matter how I pushed Carlisle from my thoughts, and tried desperately to hang onto the fleeting desire for Garrett, I could not feel the same way he did. I shuddered almost involuntarily as Garrett's tongue pushed more insistently against my own. His determination to wring a response from me began to dredge up memories that had long begun to fade, and I felt a swell of panic well inside me.

Suddenly I knew. I could not do this. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not any time. No matter how alone I felt, no matter how much pity I felt for Garrett, I could not let him believe that someday I could come to love him.

I jerked away, panic lancing through me in shuddering gasps. I could feel the ghost of someone's unwanted hands on me, even though Garrett and I weren't even touching, and I knew, buried deep in my past memory, there'd been a man who had taken advantage of me. I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself. When I opened them, Garrett's face was remote and unreadable. The mask had fallen back over his features and hated myself for causing him so much pain.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I . . .I didn't know. . ."

He pushed aside my apology as if it was nothing. "It's nothing. At least now you'll be safe tomorrow. That's all that matters."

I wanted to tell him that it _did _matter, that _his _feelings mattered, but I'd hurt him enough for one night so I changed the subject. "Do you want to hunt?"

Never in our acquaintance had I suggested a hunt—it was always Garrett who persuaded me to go hunting during the night. But this time, I needed the hot drugging violence of the kill; the cleansing catharsis of the blood pumping down my throat.

Garrett nodded. "There's a small village close to here. I'm sure there will be a saloon full of drunks and cheats waiting for an end to their meaningless existence." As I followed him, I realized that in his own way—and perhaps even in a way that I could coexist with—Garrett was an honorable vampire. Perhaps not as honorable as Carlisle, but then Carlisle was a vampire who tried to exist as a human did. Instead of killing indiscriminately, Garrett only killed what he decided deserved it. He admitted that he was sure his methods were not fool-proof; after all, he could only judge men based on their actions and their body language. He didn't and couldn't know their thoughts. But he still killed only by a code, and that was something I could respect and perhaps even admire.

We approached the town, and it was easy to find the tavern. Garrett had told me during one of my first nights in Europe that the best places to find the kind of men he looked for was by the bars and the taverns. Wastrels, drunkards, bums, and cheats were the kind of men he preyed on, and while their outer flesh was never too appealing, their blood was just as hot and just as satisfying.

We hid in the shadows of the market, watching the back alley of the tavern. It was boisterously noisy inside, but there was nobody outside or in the brick alleyway behind the building. Settling in to wait, I noticed that Garrett was very careful not to touch me, even though we'd long adjusted to being in each other's personal space. I mourned the passing of our easy friendship and almost wished that we had never met. Except that Garrett had given me so much—he'd even given me what Carlisle couldn't: my identity as a vampire and I found I couldn't regret that.

The backdoor in the alley creaked open, and a man snuck out, roughly dragging a girl behind him. She was blonde and teetering behind him on very high, high heels. A shaft of light from a street lamp briefly illuminated her face and I died a little inside. She didn't look old enough to be with the dark-haired man. She certainly didn't look old enough for him to be pushing her up against the wall, or rubbing his hands up and down her body that way.

I heard a low, indistinct growl and was shocked to see Garrett's face turn towards mine in surprise. Had that been _me_? Had I just growled now? I turned back to the alley and the tableau beginning to unfold made me physically sick. I didn't hesitate, I didn't even pause to tell Garrett my intentions. I'd seen enough, so I simply leapt.

I caught the man off guard. He was greasy and thick around the middle, and smelled like cheap cologne. I wrenched him off the girl and threw him aside as easily as a ragdoll. The girl's eyes grew wide with terror and she cowered against the wall. I knew what I must look like, in my fluttering white dress, and my burning red eyes, but she grew still and then smiled, hesitatingly at first and then brightly, incandescently.

She spoke in halting Italian and the only word I caught was "_angel_."

The man was beginning to rouse, moving slowly and groaning indistinctly. "Go," I told her, "go far away and do not come back here." She ran and I turned to face the man who had been only a few moments away from destroying her innocence.

He tried to run too, except he was still mostly on his hands and knees, and instead, he crawled. I hauled him back up by the shirt collar and thrust him hard against the wall. His teeth shook and I could see a patch of red on the brick. His eyes dilated with fear, and I could smell it on him—the fear and the blood.

"Esme," Garrett hissed urgently, coming up behind me. "You don't need to do this."

I looked straight at the man in front of me, his body at the mercy of mine. "Yes, I do." I wrenched his head hard and felt the unmistakable crack as his spine broke. I felt nothing, only the heavy, thrumming pull of his blood as I took the artery in his neck, my teeth shredding the skin.

The man dropped dead at Garrett's feet and I looked up at his surprised face. "He deserved it," I said, even though I knew my words were unnecessary. He'd known exactly what the man was about to do. I couldn't revive the girl I'd killed in Illinois, but I could save one in her place. Maybe that would be enough for the cosmic scales.

"I'm ready," I told Garrett. "Let's go to Volterra."


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: **So this is the last chapter of the story. There will be an epilogue as well, that I hope to write in the next few days and post in a week or two. For everyone that has reviewed or recommended this story--THANK YOU. It was definitely a departure from the writing I'd done before, and part of the reason I wrote this story was because I wanted to prove that yes, I could write a non Edward/Bella, Pre-Twilight, angst-fest. And I did :) For those of you that I forced to read (JosieSwan, in particular), thank you for agreeing and for putting up with my pushiness.

Thanks mostly, though, to my fantastically awesome beta, Trinity, for whom this chapter is dedicated. Her favorite actor is Michael Sheen, and as a result, I had more fun with Aro than I could have ever thought possible.

Again, it's been a fantastic ride, and I appreciate the reviews and favorites more than you know. More about my newest project after the chapter.

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**Esme**

We arrived in Volterra at twilight. Garrett hadn't mentioned planning it on purpose, but I had a feeling that he had. In the few weeks that I had known him, he had proved to be incredibly deliberate and purposeful. He would have planned our arrival entirely based on what would be most advantageous for us.

Slipping a red-uniformed porter a handful of bills to load our luggage into the waiting carriage, Garrett extended me his arm and I pulled the veil over my eyes and exited the train. Volterra was beautiful, an ancient city of stone and brick, full of winding, curving streets. I could sense, almost _feel _the power beating behind the buildings and nerves coalesced into a hard ball of terror in the pit of my stomach. Coming here alone would have been incredibly foolish. Even with Garrett I felt exposed, unprotected, vulnerable to whatever force the city chose to unleash upon us.

I was sure he could feel me tense next to him, and Garrett wrapped my mind in his much larger one. "It will be alright," he reassured me. "They will be able to smell your fear. Just relax and don't worry."

I couldn't understand how he could be so sure that we would escape from this unscathed. Or why he had agreed to come here at all, if he knew how dangerous it was. I couldn't help my mind's inevitable return to Carlisle. _Why _had he wanted me to come here? What purpose would be served by having me stay with these ruling vampires if they would claim me for their own?

The carriage stopped in a square, with a gurgling fountain in the middle. The flagstones felt hot beneath the thin leather soles of my shoes as we exited the carriage and I looked up. A tall bell tower stood right above us, ominously looming over the entire courtyard.

"Calm," Garrett murmured so quietly I could barely hear, "stay calm. And stay with me, Esme. Promise."

I nodded. It was dark now and we were already in the lair of our kind, so I pulled the dark veil over my hair and patted my hair, making sure not a strand hand moved out of place. "You look beautiful," he reassured. "You always do."

"It's not every day you meet royalty," I tried teasing, but the tense edge to my voice caused the joke to fall terribly flat.

"No," Garrett said seriously. "And do not mistake the Volturi for anything but royalty. They are supreme."

We walked towards the bell tower, and entered a wooden door at the base. A shadow materialized, slinking out of the darkness and I jerked Garrett's arm in surprise.

The shadow was a tall man, who moved with a sinuous elegance. We stopped in front of him, and I could see him eyeing us up and down, trying to classify not _what_ we were, but how potentially powerful we were. "State your purpose," he said.

"Santiago, I am here to bring Esme to meet the Volturi. She is newly changed."

Santiago, as Garrett had named him, looked me up and down more carefully after his words, and I could feel the approval radiating out of him. "She is... lovely. A beautiful addition to our kind. She is yours?"

I forced myself not to shiver under the force of his gaze. "Yes," Garrett said simply.

I wanted to tell both men that it was the 20th century and women were not handled like chattel any longer, but I had a feeling that Santiago, and the rest of the Volturi, would have disagreed with me.

"I will alert Aro to your presence. It has been too long, Garrett, my friend."

Garrett's grip on my arm tightened as I internally questioned why he would be so frightened of a man who greeted him like a friend. Then I remembered Edward mentioning how the Volturi were insidious and sly, dealing in intrigue and political manipulation. Perhaps Santiago's greeting was merely a way of trying to make us feel more at ease.

Santiago vanished into the shadows, and we were left to wait. "Aro," I said softly, attempting to speak as quietly as possible so that my voice did not echo, "he is the leader, is he not?"

Garrett nodded. "There are ears..._ everywhere_," he added. "We will speak later."

I felt almost irrationally frustrated with him. If it was so dangerous, I wanted to ask him, why did you insist we come to this place?

The atmosphere inside the bell tower was oppressive and archaic. There was no lights, no sounds, only a dank, dark silence. I felt as if we were waiting to be taken to our graves. Finally, Santiago reappeared. "Come with me," he ordered, and we followed him, wordlessly.

We took a winding staircase down several flights of stairs. We climbed for what felt like an eternity, but was likely only a few moments. There were no lights in the staircase either, and I supposed that this made logical sense. Only vampires would be traversing these passageways, and we had no need of light to see in the dark.

Finally, we emerged in a marble hallway. Suddenly, it appeared as if we had left ancient Italy behind, and we were in the Renaissance—in the castle of a king. And, I supposed, that's technically where we were. Except that there wasn't just one king, there were three.

And as if we needed a reminder, when we finally emerged from the hallway into the receiving room, I saw three incredibly ornate thrones, on a dais, and in them sat the three men who I knew without a doubt would decide my fate.

Carlisle had been over three hundred years old, and the aura of power he commanded when he chose to was nothing compared to these three men. They ruled so absolutely, their power so concrete, that I could feel them calling to my body, marking it as their own. Garrett's grip on my arm tightened.

"Garrett, welcome back to our humble abode. It has been too long since we have seen you, nomad. I see you have brought company for us to meet." The man in the middle, who's very gaze seemed to penetrate my bones, with the long dark hair and ruby eyes, must be Aro.

"And this," he continued, "must be Esme. She is incredibly lovely. You are fortunate to have found such a prize, my boy."

"Aro, we come to pay you honor. Esme wished to meet the men who ruled our kind."

"She is young, Garrett. I feel her naivety, her innocence. How did you find her to change her?"

I could feel Garrett's hesitation next to me, feel it emanating from his pores. He desperately did not want Aro to catch him in a lie, but he also did not want to admit that he'd found me already made.

I decided it was high time that I entered into the conversation. "Aro," I said, bowing my head deeply, reverently. No matter how scary this man was, he was also incredibly powerful and deserved respect for that reason alone. "I am honored to meet you."

Aro smiled, and raised from his throne. A mere moment later, he was directly in front of me, raising my chin with a finger. "Ah, but you _are _lovely. A flower in the midst of so much death, do you not agree Marcus?"

Marcus, the elderly gentleman to Aro's left, looked at me with deadened eyes. I wondered what had happened to make him so sad. "She is, indeed, Aro. I am impressed by young Garrett's choice."

"Ah," Aro said again, his finger still brushing the underside of my jaw. I could feel the panic pouring off Garrett now, and I wondered why he was so agitated and _why _he did not say anything. Recklessly, I continued.

"Garrett has been a wonderful guide. I consider myself extremely lucky that I have him showing me the rules of our kind."

Aro tilted his head slightly, finally removing his finger from my flesh. "My dear, I do believe that there is a small detail that you neglected to mention. Are you certain, nomad," he switched his attention to Garrett, "that she is _yours_, as you told Santiago?"

It was inevitable, I decided. I should have known that they would discover that I was essentially an orphan, that I "belonged" to no one. I should never have dragged Garrett into this mess. I decided that I would do whatever I could to lessen his accountability. After all, I had left Carlisle, and therefore, this was essentially all my doing, and therefore, entirely my fault.

"Aro," I said firmly, looking him in the eyes, though I felt the chill of his power seep through me at such prolonged contact. "You are correct. I am not his. I belong to myself, only. Garrett was only doing his duty, in showing me the law and how to exist as a nomad. I will be perfectly fine on my own."

"You are so young, my dear. So fresh, so new. So incredibly lovely." Aro brushed a curl behind my ear. "Do you not agree, Jane?"

I heard Garrett's sharp intake of breath next to me, and I wondered why he was so upset over the blond girl who emerged from behind Caius' throne. "She is," the girl said. "Exquisite. I cannot understand why a vampire of her charm would be so alone."

"I'm alone because I chose to be," I inserted. "Not because I have no other choice."

"You knew your creator then?" Aro asked, his eyes moving across my face. "Who was it? Someone we might know?"

Thoughts raced through my mind. Edward had mentioned that Carlisle had spent a number of years with the Volturi and therefore he would be known to them. I could not say his name, but there were no other names to say. I stood there, suddenly terrified. This had gone so much worse than I could ever have envisioned. It was as if they knew my entire history, and were baiting us with what they'd discovered.

Aro sighed. "If you will not speak of your creator, my dear, then I am afraid that I will have to offer your hand up to whoever will claim you."

I opened my mouth to speak but he placed a finger across my lips. "No, no, my dear. No arguments. Or else I will have to have Jane get involved, and that is always rather... messy. No, it is better if you do not argue. Better all around."

"Jane?" I questioned, and the blond girl came forward, gliding across the marble floor, her red eyes glowing in her angelic face.

"Jane," Aro answered with a creepily amused smile, "can cause any amount of excruciating pain, simply by directing a thought towards you. I would demonstrate, but my dear, you are so young, it would not be fair. Instead," he looked towards Jane, "shall we demonstrate on the nomad?"

"No," I begged, interrupting him. "No, he does not deserve it."

"Ah, but my dear, pain is not always a punishment. Sometimes," Aro said, and with mounting horror, I watched as Jane's eyes gleamed with anticipation, "pain is just pain."

With an agonized groan, I watched with mute terror as Garrett sank to the floor next to me, his eyes wild and his hands clutching at the ground as invisible pain wracked his body. "Please stop," I begged. "Please for the love of God, _stop_."

Aro sighed again. "Jane, please. Esme is fresh. She is not jaded as we are. She cannot appreciate the beauty of pain." Garrett's shoulders unclenched, and I knew she had stopped, but he did not rise to his feet. I laid a protective hand on his arm and looked Aro straight in the eye.

"What would you have of me, then?"

"Ah," he said clapping his hands," you are finally beginning to understand how it all works. Smart as well as beautiful. I should not be surprised, I suppose," he said conversationally, as if he had not just ordered Garrett to be tortured. I was becoming rapidly aware of how completely insane these men were, and I began to fear for our lives. How would we remove ourselves from here without becoming trapped in this labyrinth of suffering and insanity?

"Someone," Aro said decisively, "must claim you. I must know you are protected and safe, Esme. Such a flower should not grow uncared for."

I closed my eyes in supplication. This was what Garrett had warned me of. I would be stuck here forever, _owned _by one of the Volturi, who thought it amusing to torture innocent men.

"Now," Aro said, "who will claim you?"

"I will," Garrett said instantly, struggling to his feet. "I will claim her."

"No, you will not. I have seen how you tried and how you failed. She is not yours to take." Aro looked at him pointedly, and I felt my hopes drop even further. I could not ask any more of him. He had already done too much for me, and I felt the burden of his acts hanging over me.

"Then, if it is not the nomad, who is it?" Caius asked, speaking for the first time. His face, though young and unwrinkled, appeared ancient as stone. "Who will claim her? Take responsibility for her?"

I looked around the room desperately. There was nobody here except for Garrett and I, Jane, and the three Volturi leaders. Even Santiago had exited the receiving hall. I felt a horrible foreboding growing deep in my stomach. I could not survive if I had to continue as Aro's mate.

Just when all hope seemed entirely lost, and I was sure that I would be Aro's property for all time, I heard a voice that I was sure I was dreaming.

"I will claim her. She is, and always has been, _mine_." I looked behind the thrones, sure that I would see a hallucination of Carlisle coming towards me, but he didn't seem to be a dream. Instead, he looked real. And Edward was by his side. They were dressed formally, in the same black robes that the Volturi wore, and I had never felt so relieved in my entire life.

"Ah, Carlisle. Such a welcome relief that someone will take this poor girl under their guidance. How are you acquainted with her?" I had a feeling as I watched Aro interact with Carlisle, that he knew very well that he was my creator. Aro had manipulated us, and to an extent, I thought Carlisle might have as well, but my heart was so full of the joy of seeing him again, and of him _claiming _me as his own, that I wasn't sure if I even cared.

Edward continued moving towards me, and he did not stop until he was right in front of me, his golden eyes so serious in his beautiful face. "Esme. _Mother_. I find that I have to apologize, to atone, for my actions. I am sorry. Will you forgive me?"

I pulled him into my arms, gripping him so tightly that I thought I heard his bones creak. "Always. And I won't let you blame yourself entirely. Some of it was my fault as well. I was so ridiculously stubborn." Edward and I held on to each other for a long time. I had already lost a son; I had no intention of losing another. Finally, I released him to find that the Volturi and Jane had vacated the receiving room to leave us alone. Garrett had disappeared and I had no idea where he had gone to.

Edward moved to the side, and I faced Carlisle. A nervous excitement hummed in my stomach, and for the first time since that last afternoon, I saw all his feelings for me written on his face. There was no more guilt or fear holding them back. His love for me shone out of his eyes like a sun and I couldn't help but bask in his warmth.

"Esme," he said, holding his hands out to me. "I too must apologize. I should never have let you go. I knew it the second you left—even before you left, in fact—but I felt this perverse need to make you realize how much we needed each other first. I didn't want to force you into a position simply because you had no other choice."

I gripped his hands with my own, and I felt rather than saw Edward vanish from the room too—I had eyes for no one but Carlisle. We were now alone, and so I drifted into his warm embrace. "I never thanked you," I said, my voice breaking with emotion, "for saving me. I never thought I would have anything to live for. But I do. You gave me a son and a family and most importantly, you gave me yourself and a future that we can share together, forever. So thank you. Thank you for being selfish and for doing the wrong thing."

"I love you, today, tomorrow and every single day in the future we will spend together. Shall we go home now, before Aro decides he wants to keep us?"

Even though I knew it was physically impossible, I almost felt a single tear of joy trickle out from under my eyelid as I held on tightly to the man I loved. "Please. I don't believe I want to stay. It's too dark here. It would be like living in a mausoleum.""

Carlisle nodded and clasped my hand in his. "Then let's go home."

**THE END**

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**AN Pt 2: ** What am I up to after Eve? I'm going back to AH actually, and back to Edward and Bella, though there will definitely be a great Esme/Carlisle subplot in my new story. It's called Sins of the Father. Go to my profile for a cool trailer that I did for it. It's not up yet, but it will be in a few weeks.

Thanks for reading!

bethaboo

**AND PS. YES, THERE IS AN EPILOGUE**


	23. Epilogue

**AN: This is the final chapter of Eve. Really, it's just a short snapshot of what I think could be a canon scene, six years after Esme returns to live with Carlisle and Edward. For everyone who reviewed, favorited, recommended this story--thank you. You kept me going when I despaired at finishing this. Hopeful Wager was extraordinarily supportive and recced this out in at least one blog. Trinity was there from the beginning to help me with suggestions and grammar corrections. JosieSwan helped me finish and held my hand unflinchingly throughout the final few chapters and this epilogue, even when I thought it was total crap.**

**Song lyrics are from (of course) "Eve, the Apple of my Eye" by Bell X1.**

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**1927**

_Oh, if I had you here, I'd clip your wings; snap you up and leave you sprawling on my pin._

_But this pantomime is so very lame—_

_can't you see the grass is greener when it rains?_

**Esme**

Once, I'd recognized the sun as a convenient way of counting the passage of time. Like clockwork, it rose and fell, framing each day in a recognizable context. I'd been human then, and as humans often are, I was acutely aware of time. We could see the end of our lifetime—sometimes it seemed so close we could reach out and brush our fingertips against it.

I'd done more than simply touch the end of my human lifetime; I'd reached out and grasped it with a determination that not even ten years later, felt completely alien to me. Perhaps, I decided as I watched my husband, the shift in my paradigm hadn't had so much to do with my newfound life as a vampire, and instead had everything to do with the man who had created me. When I'd discovered that I now had forever to live, I'd found something to live for.

Tonight, the sun set in the sky like a flaming brand, and Carlisle and I sat in our house by the forest and came to terms with the fact that our family, up to recently compromised of three, was now only two strong.

"It's my fault," I insisted to my husband, as his head dropped into his hands. I had never seen him so distraught, even as I'd once prepared to leave him. Edward, our "son" in every way except blood, had just left us, determined to strike out on his own and make his own lifestyle choices. "I thought his questions about Garrett were simple curiosity."

"You remember, my dear," Carlisle replied dryly, "that all Edward had to do was pluck the thoughts from our heads. He saw every detail of your time apart away from us. He knew exactly what you did. No questions required."

I wondered if Edward had, in fact, known _every _detail—if he had known about Garrett's kiss. I hoped not because now the thought filled me with a secret shame. When we had left Volterra, I'd barely been able to look Garrett in the eye. He'd already been grieving—the shadows in his blood-red eyes haunted me still—and I'd barely been able to look at him without feeling swamped with guilt. I'd led him to believe that in time I could care for him, when I'd known I'd never love another after Carlisle. We had not met since, but at our parting, he had insisted on promising to come if we ever needed help. I kept hoping that in time, his pain would lessen and that he would find a woman who could love him the way he deserved.

I still didn't understand how Edward could so completely blame himself for the incident that had led to my departure and my eventual meeting with Garrett. The girl, while a terrible mistake on my part, had been part of a rather steep learning curve I'd experienced while adjusting to my new vampiric self. Edward had neither attacked nor killed her. Yet, he'd still held himself almost completely responsible for the ugly incident.

He'd also tried to assume the fault for me leaving. I'd reasoned with him many times, trying to make Edward see that just because he had the power to read minds didn't mean that he was obligated to interfere in other's lives. People still had sovereignty over their own choices—regardless of whether he spoke or not.

I'd argued relentlessly, even using the reasoning that Edward had done everything in his power to restore my relationship with Carlisle. But Edward apparently didn't think his participation in during the scene in Volterra with Aro had been important enough to eradicate the guilt he felt for permitting it to happen in the first place. Without him, I'd insisted over and over again, I might have been stuck with Aro for eternity. If he hadn't read Aro's mind and used his own power to circumvent Aro's, there was no saying the potential difficulty Carlisle could have faced in claiming me as his own.

In the end, though, I hadn't been able to stop him from going. Edward had insisted, with eyes full of self-recrimination, that this time away would help him re-evaluate his own choices. Carlisle had done his own part to stop him, but even in the final moments, when I felt as if my heart would crack from the grief of losing yet another son, he had not wavered in his determination to go. I'd seen the mirror of my pain and Carlisle's in his eyes, but now, even days later, he had not returned. I had hoped that our grief would convince him that he belonged here with us, but unfortunately it seemed as if he had truly broken away.

"Be safe," I'd told him. Now I wondered if it should be the other souls he encountered that I should be worrying for. Edward was strong and smart and exceptionally quick, even for a vampire. He would be fine on his own, if he didn't drown in his own guilt and grief. Those around him though. . .I worried about them.

Edward had made no secret of the fact that he would be rejecting the "vegetarian" lifestyle while he was out on his own. By now, I thought with fatalistic calm, he would have taken his first life, tasted his first human blood.

"How could I have failed so completely? Was I really such a terrible father?" The words rushed out of Carlisle's mouth, as if he had done everything in his power to keep them buried inside for as long as possible. I knew my husband well enough to understand intrinsically his immense sense of pride and honor. He had wanted to do his best by Edward and he felt as if he had failed the boy he had taken as his own son.

"Darling," I said, resting a hand on his bent shoulders, "it's not your fault."

Edward had told us that as a newly-married couple, we needed the time apart. Time for our love to grow, to blossom. I honestly didn't see how I could ever come to love Carlisle any more than I did now. After all, love that was forced to bloom under adversity was the strongest of all, and the time during which I had come to know and love Carlisle had been exceptionally trying.

But now, I thought as my hand caressed his back, the difficulties, the misunderstandings, the anger and the guilt, was all over—or at least it had been. Edward's leaving had shattered us, Carlisle in particular, and I had no idea what I could say to bring any comfort to the man I loved.

"Edward," I began again, searching desperately for any words I could say that would bring a semblance of healing and acceptance, "Edward is so young. He wants to see the paths he had open to him before he makes a final choice. It's difficult to know what is right for you until you've explored the other lives he could lead."

I paused, hoping that Carlisle would not discount my words, because I was speaking from personal experience. I'd had to make the same journey as Edward. In so many ways, not only had I picked Carlisle, but I had chosen the life I knew we could have together. As kind as Garrett was, and as much as he'd loved me, I hadn't wanted the lifestyle that he'd chosen for himself. In the end, I'd wanted a home and a family and a strong moral center. There was too much ambiguity in Garrett's life. Carlisle lived a life of absolutes—of blacks and whites. To kill, except in self-defense, was an abomination in his eyes, even though vampires had been created for that express purpose. In the end, it had been both the man and his belief that I'd chosen. Now Edward had to make a similar choice.

"You did what you could," I said finally. "You did your very best. You must know, I would never lie to you, my darling."

Carlisle still said nothing, and his head remained bowed. Finally, I rose from beside him, deciding that perhaps he needed to be alone, to be able to come to terms with Edward's departure. I just hoped that he would understand that Edward's decision wasn't a rejection of what Carlisle had instilled in him. He was merely trying to reaffirm that it was what he wanted to dedicate himself to.

I climbed the stairs to the room Carlisle and I shared and stood at the window, watching the sun set into the trees. When I heard his footsteps on the stairs, the sun had long since fallen into shadow and the room, at least to human eyes, was dark as the night.

He entered the room and looked straight at me. "You see me as so good," he confessed. "A vampire of exceptional self-control and self-discipline. And you would be right. I _was. _Every action revolved around proving to myself that I was better than any of the others of my kind. In retrospect, I was exceptionally prideful." Carlisle's voice was rueful, and I reached out to him, wrapping my arms around him. I rested my head on his chest, where his heart would have beat, if it still could. "I'm not good," he whispered. "I'm proud. I feel not only as if I failed Edward, I've failed myself. I've failed you. And I swore when we married that I would never give you a single reason to doubt me. Here we've been married for not even ten years, and I've already let you down. Because of me, your son is gone."

I pulled away from his arms, anger at his own blindness flooding me. "Carlisle, it's _not _your fault," I insisted. "Edward will come back to us. To me. To you. He _will _return."

Carlisle was silent for a long time, the quiet stretching out between us. In ten years I had learned to read him nearly as well as Edward could, but I confessed at this moment, I could not begin to understand my husband. "He will. Eventually," Carlisle finally confirmed, his voice unbearably sad. "That isn't my only concern. I worry he obsesses too much about the state of his soul, about the mistakes he has made. I worry he doesn't believe he deserves happiness. I worry he compares his behavior to mine, and unfairly finds his own lacking."

I couldn't disagree with Carlisle; after all, all these same things preyed on my mind. "It will resolve itself," I whispered to him, my arms pulling him closer to me. His chin brushed the top of my head and his hands crept up the back of my dress, smoothing the fabric. "At the very least, we have each other, and that's more than I ever thought to dream of."

Still, though, I felt Carlisle hesitate. "Do you think he will ever be so lucky?" he asked, and I ached at the pain and guilt in his tone. "I wonder if he will ever let himself fall in love the way I fell in love with you, Esme?" His voice grew tender again, and so incredibly loving that I felt incredibly protected and cherished.

In the dark watches of the night, I wondered too, but the optimist in me needed to believe that the joy I'd found was available to all. So I nodded my head, reassuring him the only way I knew. "He will. Someday."

"Someday," Carlisle agreed, finally. "Perhaps, someday."

_The garden snake was charming;_ _Eve said, "let's give it a try."_

_Now lead us not into temptation,_

_because Eve is the apple of my eye._

THE END

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**AN: New story is uploaded and will be updated EVERY Tuesday--it's called Sins of the Father, and it's an AH dramedy about two lost souls who push each other find the lost pieces of themselves. And no, it is not as ridiculously overwrought as that summary suggests. Check it out!**

**Thanks for reading!**


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